


Politics and Animals

by Kryptaria, rayvanfox



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Dogs, Fluff, Good BDSM Etiquette, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Romance, Service Dogs, service dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 16:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 73,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1824967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started on a quiet Brooklyn street. Sure, putting the Veterans Administration clinic next to a funeral parlor was probably the universe’s idea of a joke, but it had a coffee shop right across the street. And the old church next to the coffee shop had a new sign over the doors: Howling Commandos.</p><p>When Steve Rogers, the new Team Lead at the VA, first looked across the street and spotted the gorgeous guy with the cute dog, he never planned on becoming emotionally invested. It was just supposed to be a no-strings night of pleasure.</p><p>But Bucky Barnes turns out to be far more complicated than Steve ever expected, and at every turn, it seems like Bucky’s past, his family, and his stalker are all conspiring against them. Is it even worth the effort?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic that started with so many plot bunnies, we turned it into three fics (that have multiplied into six or seven by now). The title is an intentional nod to the miniseries Political Animals, starring Sebastian Stan.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: When we wrote this fic, we weren't aware of the laws and distinctions between therapy animals, emotional support animals, and service animals. Because of that, this fic has a lot of inaccuracies! I do intend to go back and correct them... when I have time. If you have any questions or want to know more about psychiatric service dogs for PTSD, please contact me: http://kryptaria.tumblr.com/ask/
> 
> Special thanks to our betas and cheerleaders. In alphabetical order, they are: scriptrixlatinae, spadesinspades, writehopper, and zephyrfox, who tried to poke out her eye, she was having so much fun with it. (Or maybe that was gardening? See, kids? Proof that going outside is dangerous. Stay inside and read our fanfic instead.)
> 
> Also, we're going to try to add a dictionary of military and BDSM terms/abbreviations to each relevant chapter, but if there's something we miss, please let us know!  
> ~~~

Luck was on Bucky’s side. He brought his Range Rover around a corner just as a car pulled away from the side of the block that wasn’t restricted today for street sweeping. He sniped the parking spot with all the aggression of a New Yorker and the expertise of a man who’d spent too many hours behind the wheel of a much bigger vehicle in much more hazardous situations. New York driving, even in Brooklyn, was easy by comparison.

He checked his six using his mirrors and the rearview camera, then said, “Heads up,” as he unlocked the doors. He opened his door, did one more quick sidewalk check, then got out to open the back door.

The dog who jumped out was tall and solidly built under a silky, patchwork coat of black, gray, and white fur. Bucky caught the trailing leash with his left hand, though the dog never moved more than two feet away. Instead, he positioned himself at Bucky’s left side, ears perked alertly up, curved tail held high. Bucky closed the door, locked the car, and started walking. The dog kept step, trotting calmly at Bucky’s side.

As they approached the corner, Bucky twitched the leash. “You have to go?” he asked. When the dog didn’t start sniffing around, he warned, “All right, but don’t go interrupting my coffee if you change your mind.”

The coffee shop was halfway down the block, tucked between an apartment building and what had been an old church. The brickwork crosses were still there, but the brand new sign over the double doors read _Howling Commandos_.

“Point,” Bucky said as they approached the fenced patio. The dog slipped ahead of him and led the way through the gate. Bucky sat down with his back to the fence, where he could watch both the patio gate and the door. When Bucky said, “My six,” the dog sat down beside him but off to one side, with a clear view of the street and sidewalk. He was so focused on watching everything behind Bucky that he didn’t even twitch when the cafe door opened with a loud chime.

Bucky unzipped his jacket but didn’t take off his gloves. He knew exactly what he wanted, so instead of looking at the menu, he kept an eye on the street. The neighborhood was still unfamiliar enough that he was learning its rhythm. The traffic was calm, and there were just enough pedestrians and shoppers for the sidewalks to look lively without being crowded. The grocery on the corner and dry cleaner’s were both doing brisk business. The funeral home, not so much. And whose stupid idea was it to put a Veterans Administration clinic next to it?

A smiling waitress came over, saying, “Hi! You guys know what you want?”

“Breakfast bagel special, black coffee.”

“Need a bowl of water for your dog?” she asked, extending a hand and giving Bucky a questioning look. Bucky smiled, watching the dog subtly interpose himself between Bucky and the waitress, keeping her at arm’s length.

“Go ahead, say hi,” he said, giving the leash a twitch. The dog surged up and turned, tail wagging, mouth open in a friendly grin. At eighty pounds, the blue merle Australian Shepherd was practically a mutant, though no one could figure out if he had mixed ancestry or was just naturally big. His strange blue-white eyes and urban camo coloring gave him an ominous appearance that Bucky had worked hard to erase when given the command to greet someone.

The waitress fell for it. She crouched down and accepted a sniff of greeting. “Oh, he’s gorgeous. Such fur!” she said, giving the dog’s thick mane a rough scratching. “What’s his name?”

“Winter.”

 

~~~

 

“Maggie. _Maggie!_ ” Sam called in exasperation as the energetic young beagle surged to the end of her leash and tried to leap up at a stand of vegetables set up outside the corner grocery store. He managed to reel her in through sheer strength. She was just a hair over fifteen pounds and full of energy early in the morning. “Are dogs supposed to go this crazy for sweet potatoes?”

“You’re the expert. I’m just the doggie uncle.” Steve grinned widely at Sam as they made it past the last stand of temptations. Maggie calmed down as they approached the door to the VA clinic.

Sam took the keys from his pocket and offered them to Steve. “First day, boss. You nervous?”

“No. I mean, it’s not like going into battle... is it?” Steve was only half-joking at the question. He had been volunteering for the clinic periodically since Sam became a counselor there, but taking on the Team Leader position meant a level of responsibility he hadn’t felt since having troops to command in the Army. It felt good, despite giving him a certain amount of jitters. Working with veterans was rewarding, but not without a certain level of unpredictability.

Sam grinned and made a show of stepping out of the way as he gestured to the locked door. “I dunno how you Army types do things. You get many conference calls in battle? Because you’ve got your first in ten minutes.”

“Shit.” Steve fumbled with the keys in the lock. “I knew I shouldn’t have waited around for you and Maggie. The walk should only take fifteen minutes, not twenty-five.” The key to success in battle was preparation, and he needed to get his head in the game before answering that call. “Is anyone else coming in, or do we have to man the phones all day?”

“We’re covered for the afternoon shift, and I’ll take care of the phones while you’re on your call. Don’t worry,” Sam said more gently. “You’ll do just fine. You want Maggie to hang out with you?”

Steve was mildly surprised at the question, but even more so at how he found himself wanting to answer. He didn’t expect to feel relieved at the idea of Sam’s puppy underfoot, but when she stopped sniffing everything she was actually a really calm dog. Steve knew that Sam had stashed her dog bed under his desk so she was within reach much of the time, and that sounded comforting. He hadn’t lived with a dog since he was a kid, but since moving in with Sam a month ago, he and Maggie had become pals. “Actually, yeah. If you won’t miss her, that is.”

Sam handed over the leash but stopped short of following Steve into the office lobby. “You go get her settled. I want to run across the street. See what that’s all about.” Sam nodded in the direction of the old church next to the coffee shop where they usually got their lunch. A new sign hung over the doors. The top line of print was obscured by the sparse tree branches, just turning green with the first spring leaves, but the second line said _Therapy Pet Outreach Center and Clinic_.

No wonder Sam was interested. Steve nodded, and Sam trotted off across the street. Steve’s eye was caught by the large black-and-white, frankly gorgeous dog sitting at the foot of a table on the patio of the coffee shop. It was long-haired, but even through that spotted coat he could see it was clearly a strong animal, and Steve wondered what sort of owner would be able to control such a beast.

He turned his attention to the dog’s human and let his gaze travel up long legs in skinny jeans. The table interrupted his view before he reached a broad chest and shoulders barely hidden under a black leather jacket. Black leather gloves, too, which was strange, since he was eating a bagel with one hand. The wind tugged playfully at his dark, shoulder-length hair, and he kept having to toss his head so he could take another bite. The sunlight didn’t penetrate the trees shading the patio, but Steve could just make out an exquisite, eye-capturing profile.

He told himself to stop staring and take Maggie into his office instead of to the coffee shop for a latte. Mission focus. He had it. Conference call in eight minutes...

Which ended up occupying much more time than he’d expected, and made him completely forget to ask Sam for a report on the pet therapy place. And by the time Steve remembered, a glimpse out the front window in Sam’s office confirmed that the guy with the dog was long gone.

 

~~~

 

Bucky’s home was a sleek glass and steel eyesore that ruined the charm of Greenwich Village but offered irresistible luxury. And it had secure underground parking. Bucky pulled up to the front of his building, left the keys in the Range Rover, and got Winter out. He answered the valet’s friendly, “Good afternoon, sir,” with a nod and a smile before heading into the spacious lobby.

“Point,” he quietly told Winter, who preceded him into the building. A sharp look to the side and a twitch of the ears warned Bucky that the somewhat uncomfortable grouping of leather and chrome chairs wasn’t deserted, for once. As Bucky came around the corner, a familiar man stood up, surreptitiously buttoning his black suit jacket. Tall and deceptively well built, with military short dark hair and permanent five o’clock shadow, he radiated a sense of barely restrained danger that put Bucky on edge for all the wrong reasons.

“You alone?” Bucky asked.

Brock Rumlow held up his hands. “Just me. I wanted to see you.”

Bucky walked over to him, turning his back to the concierge desk, and very quietly asked, “You think I don’t know when you’re lying to me, Brock?”

Winter inched closer to Brock, ears flat, hackles rising. Though Brock didn’t look down, Bucky knew he was aware of the dog’s proximity, just like he knew Brock was aware of the sudden potential for violence that crackled around them. Brock was carrying, probably his SIG-Sauer P226. Brock had a thing for that SIG, which tempted Bucky to disarm him and destroy it.

 _Not here,_ he told himself.

Brock backed down first. “Okay, yeah. So he did ask me to come up here, but I _also_ wanted to see you. Maybe we can talk privately?”

Bucky was tempted to throw Brock out. Even a trained operative wouldn’t cause trouble in a building lobby full of security cameras, especially not an operative working directly for a senior government official. But there was no sense in delaying the inevitable.

“With me,” he told Winter, indicating the elevator with a jerk of his head. A swipe of his keycard unlocked the elevator. He went directly for the back left corner, under the emergency hatch that was almost hidden in the ceiling.

Without having to ask, Brock hit the button for the ninth floor. When the doors closed, he asked, “Why didn’t you invite us to the grand opening?”

Bucky clenched his teeth in irritation. He should’ve known his uncle wouldn’t pass up a photo op. “It’s a charity, not the commissioning of a new aircraft carrier.”

“You could’ve gotten —”

“If you say ‘more press’, I swear to fucking god, I will _end_ you right now.”

Brock gave Bucky what might have passed for a kicked-puppy look, but Brock hadn’t fooled Bucky like that for months. “He just wants to help.”

The elevator chimed in warning before it slowed and stopped at the ninth floor. Bucky pushed past Brock and stopped in the doorway, blocking Brock’s exit. “I don’t need his help.”

With slow, careful movements, Brock unbuttoned his jacket. He pulled open the left flap to show two things: the SIG holstered against his ribs and an envelope tucked into his pocket. He took the envelope out and let the jacket fall closed, though he didn’t button it.

“He sent this anyway,” he said, offering the envelope.

 _He can’t buy me_ was on the tip of Bucky’s tongue, but if his childhood had taught him anything, it was that money knew no loyalty. And there would always be someone else in need of help.

Feeling dirty all the same, he took the envelope. “Tell him I said thanks,” he said flatly.

Brock took a step forward. “So, are you going to invite me in?”

“Not today. I have plans,” Bucky lied. “Should’ve called first.”

Brock gave an admittedly charming smile. “Next time,” he said, though they both knew it wouldn’t happen. Bucky was an expert at dodging calls he didn’t want to take.

But at least Brock didn’t try to push Bucky’s resolve. Bucky stepped back, and Brock let the elevator doors close.

Resisting the urge to crush the envelope in his fist, Bucky told Winter, “Home.” The dog led the way down the short hall to Bucky’s door. After unlocking the door, Bucky unclipped Winter’s leash and said, “Security check.”

Winter took off, running into the apartment, while Bucky waited in the hall. Here in the relative safety of his own building, he felt comfortable taking off his gloves. Light gleamed off his metal left hand, a mirror image of his flesh-and-bone right hand. The cybernetic prosthesis went all the way up to his shoulder, where it was fused with his skeleton and nervous system.

Another thing he had his uncle to thank for.

After shoving his gloves in his jacket pocket, he ripped open the envelope and slid out a bank check. Fifty thousand dollars. Cheap bastard.

Winter returned to the doorway and sat, ears perked, tail wagging — dog-speech for _all clear_. Bucky let out a sigh, went inside, and then locked the door. “Go find your ball,” he told Winter, who broke position and ran off. Bucky closed his eyes and leaned against the door, taking deep breaths until he relaxed.

When he opened his eyes, Winter was back, tennis ball in his strong jaws, body practically vibrating with enthusiasm. Bucky couldn’t help but grin as he took the tennis ball and gave it a good throw. Now that he knew the truth about Brock, Bucky was just fine with spending the night with Winter instead. At least the dog didn’t have an ulterior motive for being with him.

 

~~~

 

By Friday, Steve was more settled in his job. The office really ran itself, thanks to some clever scheduling software, the dedication of the center’s three counselors, and the occasional ‘get out of my way and let me do it right’ help of their part-time office manager, Darcy. All Steve had to do was report to NYC VA management, assist with after-hours scheduling, and subtly provide security in case of an incident.

So he no longer went tense whenever the foyer door opened. A check of his computer showed that Sam was in with a client, so Steve leaned over to look out his open office door.

Despite his civilian clothes, the blond man standing in the lobby screamed military, from his short haircut to the alert way his eyes scanned the office. His T-shirt showed muscular arms — and a dusting of pet hair, in every possible color, visible even at a distance. In one hand, he had a stack of folded papers, like flyers or brochures.

K-9 unit? Full of equal parts curiosity and the need to be hospitable, Steve stepped out to the foyer. “Hey there, I’m Steve. Can I help you with anything?”

The man’s grin turned his face from a dangerous scowl to something more like a happy golden retriever. “Clint Barton,” he said, crossing the room to offer Steve his hand. “I’m across the street. Er, I volunteer. Pet therapy.”

Steve returned the strong, warm handshake. “Oh, right. Welcome to the neighborhood.” He stalled on wanting to acknowledge their possible shared military history without implying that Clint might need the VA’s services. He gestured to the stack of paper in the man’s other hand instead. “Are those for us?”

Sounding embarrassed, Clint said, “Yeah, but they’re kind of crap.” He unfolded one of the brochures — a black and white photocopy with some overexcited text and a blurry photograph that might have been a dog... or maybe a cow? “They’re the best we’ve got at the moment. We’re still starting up.”

Steve suppressed the cringe he felt at the photography and design alike, trying to ignore what his professional eye was already seeing could be changed. The whole reason he had his current job was the same thing had happened to him when looking at the VA clinic’s brochures, and he’d volunteered to do a redesign. A complete makeover of every bit of literature and the website later, Sam hinted broadly that he should come on board officially, and the rest was history.

“The look isn’t as important as the message,” Steve lied with a smile. “I have a feeling the work you guys will be doing outweighs everything else.” He took the brochures from Clint as he not-so-subtly asked, “And I hear therapy dogs are really good with PTSD?”

Clint’s eyes brightened. “That’s our main focus. They do comfort and socialization, but also environment assessment. If you’ve got someone who’s constantly on guard, the dog’s sort of a touchstone to judge the environment. If the dog’s relaxed and alert, you know maybe nothing bad’s going to happen after all. If something _does_ happen, you’re not alone, though the dogs aren’t trained for defense. And there’s no charge for adoption. Just about a million pages of paperwork, as always,” he added with a wry smile.

“Oh, wow, yeah. I can think of five folks off the top of my head that might want to look into that.” Steve reminded himself that if it hadn’t been for Sam as both his counselor and his best friend over the past year, he might have looked into that for himself. He smiled knowingly at Clint and tried not to remember being in that mindset, always alert and needing someone at his six to feel safe. It had been exhausting until he’d learned to work through it.

Clint gestured to the brochures. “We’ve only got one dog ready for adoption now, but we just got some rescues and a couple of fosters who’ve been in training for a while. If you can get the word out, that’d be great.” With an almost shy shrug, he added, “The website’s also crap, but there’s a donation page. Blankets, towels, toys, all that. We try to minimize expenses for the adopters however we can. It’s tough to feed yourself on VA benefits, much less a dog.”

“I hear that loud and clear.” He held up the brochures. “Thanks for these. We’ll definitely be in touch.” Just before Clint turned to leave, a thought struck, and Steve asked, “Oh, by the way, do you do training for dogs folks already own?”

Grinning, Clint held up his hands. “I just scoop, brush, and occasionally play fetch. I think the trainers there do private lessons, though. That’s how this got started — a couple Army spouses did dog training out of their houses, and it turned into therapy dog training.” His grin turned sly. “You could probably work something out if you brought your camera over there.”

“My...?” _Shit_. If Sam had mentioned his photography skills already, he was in too deep. No graceful way to retreat. Mentally cursing his sometimes-too-helpful housemate, Steve found a smile to turn on. “Aha. Nothing wrong with a skill-trade among friends, I guess. I draw the line at web design though.” He pushed the wattage on his smile.

“Can’t win ’em all,” Clint surrendered with a laugh. “Stop by any time. If no one answers up front, just come around back. We’re setting up an agility course. And say hi to Sam for me.”

“Will do. And no need to be a stranger over here. Despite being next to a funeral home, we’re a pretty lively bunch.” They shook hands, and Clint headed for the door. Steve set the brochures on the flyer table next to pamphlets for AA meetings and local gyms offering discounts to vets. Then he headed back to his desk to scratch Maggie’s ears and _not_ look up the website or think about the best ways to light and shoot a canine model.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve’s resolve lasted only until Monday midday, when Darcy swept into his office, clutching the pet therapy clinic’s brochures in one fist. She was almost a foot shorter than Steve, weighed barely half as much as him, and had the entire office under her thumb.

Now, she fixed a blazing glare on Steve and demanded, “Steve. Dude. What’s this _crap_ you put on my front table?”

“I know Comic Sans gives you a headache but the layout isn’t so bad that you can’t read the cover.”

She just looked over her glasses at him.

He sighed. “Yes, the volunteer guy is cute and blond and a vet, but I will _not_ do an entire rebranding of their look. Seriously, Darcy. I do have things to do other than kerning all of their literature.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I’ll talk to them about doing some photos of the dogs, but that’s it. If you care so much, you can do their website.”

Darcy smacked the brochures down on Steve’s desk as if squashing a bug. “Comic” — she leaned in over his desk, staring into his eyes — “Sans.”

Steve sighed again. She was right. He had been avoiding that corner of the foyer all morning simply so he didn’t have to look at the design disaster that was those brochures. Someone had no concept of justification, let alone kerning. Also, they needed to be in color. Dammit. He was already matching hues in his head.

“I hate when you’re right,” Steve said, sighing as he looked up at her. Her gaze was no less fierce but her mouth turned up in a sly grin. “But I mean it about not spending my time html coding.”

“Dude, I’m _always_ right. Which of us is getting a Ph.D. here? Oh, right. That’d be me,” she all but sang as she sauntered off. “I got the website. Get me decent pics — and don’t forget the hot blond guy!” Then she added over her shoulder, “The _other_ hot blond guy.”

He smiled to himself at her commitment to flirting with him even though he never responded in kind. Not that she wasn’t gorgeous, especially in her glasses, but he found his head getting turned by the masculine end of the gender spectrum recently.

He shoved most of the brochures into a drawer, picked up the last one, and then headed out. Sam’s door was closed, so he told Darcy, “I’m going —”

“Good. Get me a latte?” she asked without looking up from her computer.

He turned the Batman bobble head doll on her desk around to face her before walking out. That was their way of keeping track of who had last paid for coffee. Having a shop across the street was causing dangerous levels of caffeine intake.

Outside, his view of the therapy dog clinic was blocked by a huge black SUV with tinted windows. It had a looming, solid feel to it, putting Steve in mind of the reinforced, armor-plated Humvees back in the desert. Remembering the abysmal gas mileage, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of bastard would drive _that_ in Brooklyn. Probably some rich asshole at the coffee shop. Steve was surprised it wasn’t double parked or poorly crammed into the space. If someone was going to be idiotic enough to drive such an expensive tank around the city, at least they were able to maneuver it.

The doors to the old church were unlocked. He let himself into a waiting room with a vacant desk in the corner opposite two sofas. Everything looked like it had been purchased at Ikea and then covered with a fine dusting of dog hair. The back wall had a hallway and a door that was sanded down to bare wood but in need of a fresh coat of paint.

“Aw, good baby,” said a familiar deep voice from beyond that door. Something thumped against the door, and Steve heard the sound of scrabbling paws on hardwood. “Go get it! Go on, fetch! Good boy!”

Steve approached the door and called out, “Hello?” and one sharp bark greeted him. He reached to open the door.

“Hang on! Easy, baby! C’mere.” After more scrabbling, Clint said, “All clear! Sorry, until we get an airlock front door, we can’t risk the babies getting out.”

Steve pushed open the door and saw another hallway with spacious pens to either side, rather than cramped cages. A door at the back was propped open, letting in fresh air. The kennels smelled clean and just a little antiseptic, without a hint of dog waste.

Clint was sitting on the floor at the far end, holding a long-legged, gangly German shepherd puppy that was fiercely trying to escape. As soon as Steve stepped in and closed the door, Clint let go of the dog. It charged at Steve, slipped, skidded, and righted itself.

“Well, hello there, friend.” Steve put his hand out, palm down, fingers slightly curled under, inviting sniffs. He looked up at Clint as a cold nose and tongue explored his hand. “Who is this?”

“Rover, not my choice, I swear,” Clint said in what seemed to be an automatic disclaimer. “One of the trainers brought her kids in, and they named the dogs. We barely managed to avoid ‘Pony’ as a name.” He got to his feet and made a cursory effort at brushing off the fur.

Steve crouched and scratched down Rover’s neck and shoulders. “Could be worse, Rover. I have an ex whose cat is named Fido.”

“Please tell me you didn’t let this ex of yours talk you into a tattoo.” Clint grinned down at Steve and Rover.

Steve stood again before responding. Rover sat at his feet, panting. “Persuasion was not their strong suit.” He hated himself for playing the pronoun game, but if this was going to be a semi-professional relationship he was fostering, his dating history wasn’t relevant.

“Good luck on your part, then. Want the quick tour?” Clint offered.

“Sure, if Rover doesn’t mind my intrusion.” Steve had been absently ruffling Rover’s ears and noticed the dog’s head raise at the mention of his name. That showed good training, if the dog had been named recently.

“These are the kennels, obviously, but only for temporary stays. Long-term, the dogs are all fostered.” Clint headed for the open back door. The yard was long and narrow, full of patchy green spots. Half the yard was fenced off with temporary orange netting. “We’re hoping to get someone who can actually get the grass to grow. Everyone’s got black thumbs. But” — he pointed to a lumpy pile of what looked like construction gear hidden under tarps — “that’s going to be our agility course. Jumps, ramps, tunnels, the whole thing.”

Steve nodded, thinking he’d be able to get some good photographs here in the summer, once the yard was more green than brown. He nearly offered his help, but he had zero experience with maintaining a lawn.

Clint distracted Rover by throwing a tennis ball, then took Steve back into the building through a second back door that led into the other hallway. “Veterinary clinic’s here. We’ve got a volunteer who’s willing to come down once a month, but we’re hoping to do shot clinics and microchipping for the neighborhood. These two rooms” — he gestured to the right side of the hall, where the doors had big glass windows — “are meeting rooms, so we can have the adopters get to know the dogs. The trainers also do home visits to check up on things, make sure everything’s okay.”

“And this all started out of their houses, you said?”

“We’ve only had the building for a couple months, and we had to get it gutted and certified free of asbestos.” Clint stopped just inside the front waiting room and lifted a wood plaque from the desk. A photograph was mounted at the top — a man and woman in their forties or so, standing arm-in-arm on the deck of a massive sailboat. Beneath, a bronze plaque read, _In memory of George and Winifred Pierce_.

Startled, Steve looked more closely at the photograph. Pierce wasn’t an uncommon last name at all, but hadn’t Winifred Pierce been a senator ten or fifteen years ago?

Before he could ask, the front doors opened, and a voice called, “They were out of bear claws, so you get a fucking cinnamon roll!”

Steve turned just as a dog walked in — the same gorgeous, long-haired black and white dog he’d seen just a week ago — followed by the same tall, well-built guy. The skinny jeans were light blue and fashionably ripped at the knees, and the leather jacket was brown instead of black. He stared at Steve with wide blue eyes, lips parted as if in surprise. The dog’s leash was held slack in the same gloved hand clutching a brown paper bag. In the other hand, he had a cardboard tray with two paper cups.

“Shit.”

Clint went right over to take the tray and bag. “Perfect timing. This is the guy from the VA across the street. Steve, the photographer. Steve, Bucky.”

“Um, hi.” Steve took only a couple steps forward before he noticed the dog move between him and its owner. He held his hand out once again for examination, feeling oddly like he wouldn’t be granted access if he didn’t pass muster.

“Say hi,” Bucky muttered, and only then did the dog sniff at Steve’s hand. This dog was far more polite than Rover and didn’t try to lick. “Sorry. I can get out of your way.”

“It’s all good,” Clint said as he put the food and coffee on the desk. “I just gave Steve the tour.”

The dog had relaxed at Bucky’s side, but Steve felt like something in the air was still prickly. He opted to not invade their personal space any further to offer his hand to Bucky. “Great place you have here. Is it yours, or…?” Steve wasn’t fond of fishing for information, but Bucky was oddly devoid of any, and Clint hadn’t actually mentioned any names. If this was the owner, Steve wanted to get the ball rolling on setting up a photoshoot.

“No!” Bucky answered, a little too quickly. “I just help out sometimes.” Then he gave Steve a grin that felt halfway genuine. “Someone’s gotta feed Clint, or he’ll get into the dog biscuits again.”

“Those were organic home-baked garlic parmesan biscuits,” Clint protested.

The tension drained another notch, and Bucky’s eyes lit up in a way that stole Steve’s breath. “ _Dog_ biscuits, asshole. Which part of _dog_ did you miss?”

“Woof, you fucker.”

Steve looked down at Bucky’s dog and just shook his head, trying not to smile at the good-natured ribbing. “You’re a smart fella. Any idea who’s actually in charge here? Maybe I should just ask you about making pictures happen?”

“He’d be a great model,” Bucky said, unsnapping the leash from the dog’s collar. He gestured with his right hand as if lifting something, and the dog sat. “But yeah, um, I guess talk to one of the trainers... maybe tomorrow?”

Between bites of a cinnamon roll the size of Rover’s paws, Clint said, “I’m out of town starting Thursday ’til who knows when.”

Bucky walked over to the desk. The dog stayed by Steve. “Nobody wants pictures of you,” Bucky told Clint as he worked one of the cups out of the cardboard tray, without taking off his gloves.

_Darcy does,_ Steve thought _._ “I do. I mean, I think it would be good to have pictures of both the dogs and the staff. Knowing the faces of the organization helps make people feel comfortable with it. When they walk in, something is already familiar.”

“Huh. Well, there you go,” Bucky said, prying off the lid to his coffee. He perched on the edge of the desk, one leg extended, and said, “Strip, Barton.”

Clint coughed and had to put down his cinnamon roll. “Excuse me?”

Bucky shot Steve an innocent look. “This is for the charity calendar, right? Just tell Winter how you want him to sit to block anything private.”

“Okay, first, I’m not stripping for either of you — no offense, Steve, I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all. And second, I’m sure as hell not stripping just so I can get covered with dog fur.”

Steve had quickly gotten out of his depth. He’d done a few tasteful nudes for his portfolio a while back, when he was trying to freelance more, but all he could see now were pin-ups of Clint and Bucky in traditionally feminine poses that threatened to make him blush harder than the situation merited. “Sorry, charity calendar?” He looked to Bucky to not have to meet Clint’s eye for a moment.

Tactical mistake, that. Bucky’s expression was, for one instant, full of unguarded confusion. There was the least hint of a frown, just enough to draw his brows together, and his wide-eyed stare, shadowed by inhumanly long lashes, locked to Steve. “Are we _not_ doing a charity calendar?” he asked, sounding baffled. He turned and looked back at Clint, who shrugged.

“Do I even _vaguely_ look like I’m in charge here?” Clint shook his head as he finished off the rest of his cinnamon roll in two bites.

Just as Steve was catching his breath, Bucky turned back to him and asked, “What pictures are you taking?”

Steve looked over at Clint, feeling a bit guilty. “Um, Clint and I had talked briefly about getting some higher quality photos for the brochures, maybe the website? I have a digital camera that takes really hi-res files.” He looked back at Bucky, still unsure what his position was and whether he might be offended by someone coming in and taking over. Hell, Bucky might have been the one to put the original literature together.

Bucky let out a relieved-sounding breath, and more of the tension left his posture. “So, no more Microsoft fucking Publisher and clipart?”

“And no one’s taking off pants. Except maybe Natasha,” Clint said thoughtfully. “She’d pull in a whole bunch of donations.”

“She would cut out your spine and feed it to you.”

“Well, yeah. But I’m not stupid enough to suggest it _to her face_ ,” Clint said, beaming as if proud of himself.

Grinning openly now, Bucky turned back to Steve. “I can get you the phone number of someone who’s _actually_ in charge around here, if that would help.”

It took Steve a second of staring at the face that had started out so closed and marveling at the transformation to not just open but possibly inviting, before he remembered to respond. “Ah, yeah. That would be great.” He was proud of himself for not adding anything about getting Bucky’s number as well.

Bucky got down from the desk and circled around to dig through the drawers. “Just don’t call after eight. They’ve got young kids.” He continued around the desk, stopped in front of Steve, and held out a couple of business cards. Just like the brochures, they were the same mess of Comic Sans and black Sharpie crossing out some of the information. “You have a card, in case I need something?”

Steve was actually prepared for this, but somehow the prospect of handing his card to Bucky rattled him slightly. He fetched his wallet from his back pocket and for the first time in a long time was actually grateful he’d included his phone number in his contact info and not just his website and email address. The card was a black and white photo of one of the Brooklyn Bridge support towers with his information printed at the bottom, oriented in portrait instead of landscape. He turned the card so it would be right-side-up for Bucky, then handed it over.

Bucky stepped closer as he took the card. He glanced down — and god, those eyelashes were _distracting_ — and pitched his voice intimately low as he asked, “So you’re local?”

“Born and raised. There was that whole going overseas for seven years thing, but besides that…” That revelatory grin came back, and Steve trailed off as Bucky’s eyes met his.

“Same here, give or take a couple years.” Somehow, Bucky made the act of sliding the business card into his inside jacket pocket seem intimate. “Maybe I’ll give you a call. Catch up on how the neighborhood’s changed.”

“Please do. I’m right down the street. There are a couple places I know of that I’d be happy to show you.” Steve shut his mouth the moment the sentence was out, afraid he’d crossed over the professional line and trying not to check Clint’s reaction to confirm said fear. He stepped back and only then realized that Bucky had approached him directly, without the dog — Winter? — between them. He heard movement and froze awkwardly in mid-step, shattering the eye-contact with Bucky to look back at the dog, who shuffled out of Steve’s way.

“Winter, here,” Bucky said, and the dog circled around Bucky to sit at his left side. “Sorry. Sometimes he’s like having a walking sofa,” he said, turning a fond smile on the dog. He ruffled Winter’s perked ears with his gloved hand.

Watching the two of them seem as one helped Steve get his equilibrium back. “I was just impressed by how well he stayed. You’ve done really good work with him.”

“I learned with him, but I also got lucky. Aussies are smart. He’d do my taxes, if he could figure out how to hold a pencil,” Bucky said, unleashing that grin on Steve again. “Other breeds are more challenging to train — not that a challenge is a _bad_ thing.”

“So you train dogs as well, then?”

“Dogs, men, whatever,” Bucky said, looking directly at Steve. It was a near miss that Steve didn’t choke on the saliva flooding his mouth. Then his smile returned, full of false innocence, as he added, “Everyone knows sergeants do all the real work in the army.”

After a few seconds of silence full of electric tension, Clint let out a loud cough. “So, yeah, have your people call our people,” he said, pointedly looking down into the bag from the coffee shop.

Steve caught a glimpse of a sharp, almost angry glare at the interruption before Bucky turned away. Then he snapped, “Hey! That’s mine!” as Clint ripped a bite off a cinnamon roll.

Clint nodded right at Steve. “You got distracted.”

“Winter, kill,” Bucky ordered, and for an instant, Steve thought the well-trained dog actually would. But the dog just let out a happy bark and wagged its tail over the hardwood floor.

That was Steve’s cue to get the hell out of Dodge. “I’ll leave you two fellas to work this out on your own.” He held his knuckles out to Winter briefly before he remembered the dog wouldn’t break position.

“Say hi,” Bucky said, and Winter stood and nosed at Steve’s hand. This time, Steve warranted a lick. Bucky smirked and said, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Great.” Steve couldn’t trust himself to make eye contact. “Clint, thanks for the tour. You’re always welcome to stop by. You too, Sergeant.”

Time to shut up and escape. He managed to get himself out and across the street without bursting into flames and was stupidly glad when Maggie came trotting into his office to sniff him. He flopped down into his chair and gave her ear-scratches, trying to calm himself down.

“Hey!” Darcy yelled, startling Maggie into barking. “Where’s my latte?”

_Shit._

Steve did _not_ want to be seen going back across the street, even if it was his turn to feed their coffee habit. “Sorry, Darce. Turn Batman back around; I’ll get you one later.”

“Ugh. I’m _dying_. Fine, fine, I’ll do everything,” Darcy said over the sound of slamming drawers. “You want one, lazy?”

His heart rate was already too high; a stiff drink would have been more helpful. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

As he heard the door open and close, he took a deep breath and threw the Howling Commandos business cards onto his desk. Why did he feel as though he’d very narrowly gotten out of there alive?

 

~~~

 

“So, thanks for scaring away our photographer, asshole,” Clint said dryly.

Bucky snatched the bag out of Clint’s hands and dropped it on the far side of the desk. “Are you fucking kidding me? I _got_ him,” he said, stripping off his gloves. His right hand was overheated, but he hadn’t wanted the questions from Steve — not until Bucky had absolutely captured his interest.

“How did you even know? Did you see the size of him? He could’ve broken you in half if he took offense.”

Bucky stared at Clint. “I knew you had my back,” he said dryly, thinking it best not to get into his own qualifications. Clint knew exactly all he needed to know about Bucky’s military career.

“No, I had your lunch,” Clint corrected, pointing at the bag. “Big difference. I would’ve gotten Winter to safety, though.”

“Some fucking friend.” Bucky hopped up onto the desk and looked into the bag. A quarter of the cinnamon roll, crumbs, and some napkins. “Friday night.”

“Friday night _what?_ ”

Bucky smiled and fished out the last of the cinnamon roll. “Friday night, he’s mine.”


	3. Chapter 3

Steve’s parents had died when he was just ten, leaving him to be raised in a system of benevolent neglect by his Aunt Vera. She’d let Steve chart his own course, preferring to guide his interests rather than forcing him to conform to schools that were, in her mind, nothing more than a political conspiracy to breed mindless sheep rather than free-thinking adults.

Her integrity as a progressive journalist who’d been an activist since the late sixties demanded that she instill in him a healthy skepticism of those with power and those with money, starting at an early age. Her two pet issues were political corruption and the struggles of the working class. And, despite being no longer under her consuming influence, he still admired her passion and agreed with her outrage at least half the time.

When it came to politics, there wasn’t anything she didn’t know. One quick email asking about George and Winifred Pierce got Steve two dozen links to Wikipedia, news archives, and all sorts of political blogs. George Pierce had been a New York State Supreme Court judge, and Winifred had been a state senator. They’d died in a small plane crash in 1999 — a crash that had spawned all sorts of conspiracy theories, including ones pointing to George Pierce’s brother.

And when Steve clicked _that_ link, he let out a low, surprised whistle. Because George Pierce’s brother was none other than _Alexander_ Pierce, the US Secretary of Defense.

What the hell did _he_ have to do with a charity set up to connect veterans and service animals?

Three more days of digging uncovered a recent fifty thousand dollar donation in Pierce’s name — but he wasn’t the principal funder of the charity, nor had that fifty thousand dollars paid for the building across the street from the VA clinic. That donor was listed as a very expensive Manhattan law firm, which meant the real donor wanted to stay anonymous.

The week wasn’t all lost to politics. With Darcy’s help, Steve managed to put together a reasonable presentation to send to the home office regarding the clinic’s numbers. He stayed late two nights to accommodate a vet working third shift, went jogging with Maggie four mornings out of five, and arranged to do a photoshoot at the pet clinic next week — though he still wasn’t certain if it was for the brochure, calendar, or both.

And he managed to not turn into a complete stalker, though he spent an unusual amount of time in the front room, where he could keep an eye on the pet clinic doors. There wasn’t a hint of Bucky or Winter, and Steve almost wondered if he’d misread Bucky’s interest. Had he just been playing nice to get free photography?

Early Friday morning, after Steve and Sam opened the office, Steve’s cell phone rang. He nearly answered, “Brooklyn Veterans Affairs,” since he got so few personal calls. It took him a moment to remember to say, “Hello?” instead.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky purred. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Steve had to start breathing again to answer, “No.” He got up to shut his office door — which he rarely did, so he hoped Sam wouldn’t notice — before continuing, “What’s up?”

“You have plans tonight?”

Steve didn’t have to look at his calendar to know that the most he’d had planned was pizza and movies on the couch with Maggie, and possibly Sam if he hadn’t scored that date he’d mentioned he was trying for. “Nothing of note.” He found himself holding his breath after he spoke.

“Good. I want to take you to dinner.”

_Dinner._

Not drinks, not a party or a club or a vague ‘hang out’, but dinner. Steve had refused to think about getting a call from Bucky, let alone what form it might take, but if he had, this wasn’t what he would have anticipated. But he certainly wasn’t one to pass up whatever opportunity presented itself.

“Sure, all right. When and where?”

“Is seafood all right?” Bucky countered. “Well, steak and seafood, but...”

Suddenly Steve felt like asking if there was a dress code involved with the evening’s plans. Which was a novel feeling. Not that he minded in any way… “Yeah, sounds good. I’m not picky.” The moment the words were out of his mouth he wished he’d clarified what he wasn’t picky about.

Bucky laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. The Wayfarer on 57th, followed by room service for dessert. Want me to drive?”

Room service? Well... _that_ escalated quickly. Not that Steve was exactly surprised after the way Bucky had made his move earlier in the week. He’d expected it in fact. He just hadn’t planned for Bucky to go to such expense in order to bed him. Because The Wayfarer was the new hip restaurant attached to the Quin hotel in Midtown. Steve mentally considered wardrobe options and debated asking Sam for advice. Then he remembered there was a question in need of answering. “Ah, I’ll meet you there. What time?”

“I’ll meet you at the restaurant at eight. Sound good?”

“Sounds great. See you then.”

 

~~~

 

A vibrant red shirt and matching tie helped soften the conservative lines of the tailored black suit. Bucky was tempted to push the smart-casual dress code, but not for a first date. And he strongly doubted he’d be able to get Steve out of his system after just one night.

After arranging for the concierge at his building to walk Winter at eleven, he took a cab to the Quin and checked in so he could deal with the technicalities: charging the suite, picking up the keys, and so on. He went up long enough to unpack his bag. A quick check of his hair, a final lint brushing, and he went back down to the Wayfarer, with instructions to have Steve brought to the bar if he showed up early. Their table reservation was for quarter past eight, but Bucky had no idea how adept Steve was with public transportation. He doubted Steve would be splurging on a taxi.

He took a seat at the far end of the bar, where he could sit turned just enough to hide his left hand. Uncharacteristically nervous, he ordered a drink and tried not to wonder if he should’ve chosen somewhere less formal. Steve worked at the fucking Veterans Administration. What the hell was Bucky doing, showing off like this?

He should’ve thought this through. This was a bad idea. Bucky had been too focused on getting Steve into bed, and he hadn’t wanted to fuck around with discovering that Steve had four housemates or lived over a restaurant or something.

It was all because of that fucking shirt. That horrible cotton shirt with blue checks and little plastic buttons that Bucky had obsessed for hours about cutting off. And the sleeves had been rolled up to show gorgeous forearms that promised those shoulders were solid muscle. The blue had brought out the brilliance of Steve’s blue eyes, so rich and deep compared to Bucky’s own pale, boring eyes.

And that was before he even thought about Steve’s fucking _smile_.

He forced himself not to down his drink and order another. He was limiting himself to just this one and whatever wine they had with dinner. He didn’t want to miss one fucking _second_ with Steve.

Just when he was distracting himself with the condensation on his glass, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to catch Steve enter the restaurant in a muted lavender dress shirt with white stripes and a white collar. It presumably also had white cuffs, but his sleeves were rolled up to mid-forearm. He’d paired it with a subtly checked grey waistcoat and trousers, and his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder.

Of all the fucking times for Bucky to _not_ be carrying a knife. All those damned buttons...

He stared and didn’t even try to pretend to look away as the hostess walked Steve right to where Bucky was waiting at the bar. Bucky didn’t realize he’d moved until he found himself looking up at Steve. The inch difference in height was just enough for Bucky to be conscious of Steve’s size. He carried himself with an unassuming, almost harmless demeanor, but up close there was an alluring sense of threat to him, making Bucky want to push.

So he did, forgetting all about playing nice in public. “Fucking gorgeous,” he said softly, flattening his hand on Steve’s very solid, very enticing chest. He leaned into Steve’s personal space and lifted his head, wondering if Steve was going to play shy or if he had the guts to kiss another man in the middle of a five-star restaurant.

Steve set his suit jacket on a stool, then covered Bucky’s hand with one of his own and reached with the other to run the tips of his fingers along the edge of Bucky’s jaw, from the chin to the back corner and forward again. The pad of Steve’s thumb hovered just barely touching the edge of Bucky’s lower lip, and it made him bite the spot the moment the sensation left. It was as if Steve came to his senses when he put both his hands into his hip pockets, but his smile wasn’t apologetic in any way.

“Took the words right out of my mouth.”

Not what Bucky had wanted, but also not what he’d expected. And new was intriguing. Bucky smiled and looked past Steve to the hostess, who’d gone back to the front of the restaurant. They still had time.

“Sit. Something to drink?” Bucky got back onto his stool, automatically keeping his left arm angled away from Steve. But it was probably best to get that discussion out of the way — or at least before dinner, in case Steve decided to completely freak out.

Steve sat and looked to Bucky’s drink as he answered, “Thanks. Something simple. Is that a gin and tonic?”

“Yeah. They have the small batch stuff made by the Brooklyn Gin Company. I like the citrus notes.”

“Hmm. All right. Worth a try.” He didn’t try to call the bartender over, which left Bucky wondering if he was comfortable enough to know they’d get served quickly or if he was too nervous to speak up.

Maybe because of that, Bucky found himself saying, “Sorry about all this, if it’s not your thing.”

“What? Having what I’m guessing will be a delicious dinner with a beautiful boy in a gorgeous suit? Not something I tend to pass up.” His smile held a twinkle.

The compliment — endearment, even — caught Bucky off-guard. Apparently Steve had no idea Bucky was on the other side of thirty. That or he was laying it on too heavy, but Bucky suspected that wasn’t his style.

Or maybe Steve had suddenly found his own aggressive side? And that could be interesting, Bucky decided. No one had really stood up to him since he’d crawled half-dead out of the hospital and into the agony of physical therapy. Well, no one other than Brock.

So he let it pass for now and waited patiently while Steve ordered a drink, watched the bartender mix it, and then took an experimental sip. As he set his glass down, Bucky turned sideways on his stool and said, “Before we go any further, you should know what you’re getting into.”

When Bucky didn’t say anything more, Steve’s eyebrows raised a bit, and then his eyes caught the subtle movement of Bucky’s left hand. They went wide, but then flicked back to Bucky’s face, before his brows furrowed, and he took a closer look. He let go of his drink to reach towards the hand, then looked questioningly up at Bucky once again as if asking permission to touch.

 _So far, so good,_ Bucky thought. Keeping his hand below the level of the bar, he reached for Steve, saying, “It’s cybernetic. Full range of motion, pressure sensing, even a little EM. Electromagnetism, I mean.”

Steve took hold of Bucky’s fingers and pulled the hand slightly closer to him, though not up into full view. Bucky stared, eyes unfocused, feeling the electric spark of pressure sensors lighting up at Steve’s gentle touch. Steve turned the hand over, and the brush of his fingertips across Bucky’s palm and spread fingers sent a wave of tingling through Bucky’s whole body.

Caught up in his examination, Steve never noticed. He took hold of Bucky’s forefinger and pressed the tip, bending the finger to watch the interlocking plates shift over each other. Then he clasped Bucky’s hand and squeezed carefully, feeling how the jointed metal yielded like a natural hand.

“Impressive. But you keep it covered. Does that throw off the sensors?” Steve pushed Bucky’s sleeve up his wrist slightly as if about to check for a pulse.

For a couple of seconds, Bucky could only stare. He kept the arm hidden to avoid the questions and gawking, and he’d always considered the loss of sensitivity a small price to pay. Just _having_ an arm was better than the alternative.

He’d just never expected anyone to figure it out so fucking fast.

“A little,” he admitted. “I’m always conscious of it, if I’m wearing gloves, so I can compensate. I don’t break anything unintentionally anymore.”

Steve looked up from his exploration of Bucky’s wrist. “It’s that strong?” He held out his forearm. “Here, squeeze.”

Bucky put his hand on Steve’s forearm and gently pushed down. “I can crush metal, Steve. Let’s not go for bone, too. But...” He skimmed his hand down to Steve’s wrist, judging the force of his touch with absolute precision. He curled his fingers around, nestling his thumb and middle finger between Steve’s hand and wrist bones. With a thought, he locked the placement of his fingers so he didn’t need to consciously control them. “I think that’s all I’ll need tonight.”

Steve looked down at Bucky’s hand on his for a moment before trying to twist out of his grasp and winced at the absolute immobility of the metal digits surrounding his wrist. The sensors in Bucky’s fingertips registered the increasing pulse rate as Steve exhaled quickly through his nose and tried again. He even tried to use his other hand to pry Bucky’s fingers loose. It was a damned good attempt, but the arm had been manufactured to withstand more pressure than any one man could bring to bear. Even a crowbar wouldn’t break Bucky’s hold.

“You’re even stronger than you look,” Bucky approved, sliding off his stool without letting go. He leaned against Steve’s leg and lowered his voice, speaking softly into his ear. “All you’ve got to do is give me your safeword, and I’ll let go.”

Steve’s breath went shallow and quick. There was a short pause before he turned his face so that his lips ran along the outer edge of Bucky’s ear, then breathed the word against his temple, the movement of his mouth making the hairs raise. “Icecap.”

For about a half second, Bucky wondered what it meant. Then the shivers hit, and he closed his eyes, fighting to keep from pressing against Steve’s lips. “Icecap,” he repeated, forcing his hand to relax. He let his fingertips trail over Steve’s hand as he pulled away, hiding the metal hand in a pocket. “Got it.”

Steve took a slow, deep breath, then let it out on a tension-relieving laugh, though the smile that accompanied it wasn’t wan or apologetic. “Well then, consider me apprised of what the evening has in store.”

He wasn’t going to run. Something deep inside Bucky purred in satisfaction at the thought that Steve was _his_ , at least for tonight. And now he was regretting dinner as a waste of time, but he told himself to be nice. He hadn’t expected Steve to play along like this — not so quickly, anyway — so Bucky had proposed an actual date, not just sex.

He should’ve suggested room service for more than just dessert.

 

~~~

 

After the startling twin revelations of Bucky’s cyber-hand and his dominant side, it took Steve all through the starter course to assess his own reactions. He was able to make light conversation and listen to Bucky’s ordering suggestions, especially when it came to wine pairings, but most of his brain was occupied with wondering how the hell he’d given what amounted to a complete stranger his safeword so quickly.

It helped that everything about the night was absolutely gorgeous, from the meandering walk in the park he’d taken after getting off the subway so as not to arrive too early, to the first glimpse of Bucky in a smart suit at the bar of the fanciest restaurant Steve had been in since shooting the wedding of a college friend, to the shadow of Bucky’s eyelashes on his lightly flushed cheeks when he’d grabbed hold of Steve’s wrist with cool metal fingers. It shouldn’t have been so intoxicating, but Steve had hit a dry spell — probably something to do with being best friends and now housemates with the one worthy candidate he'd found — and when Bucky’s interest hit him head-on, he wasn't braced for the force of it.

And then there was effectively being cuffed at the wrist, which had scrambled his brain for a bit. Bucky had hinted upon their first meeting at a tendency towards dominance, and it had caused a chain reaction in Steve that ended with military respect, but tonight Bucky had taken it to a level Steve hadn’t anticipated, and all through the lobster bisque he had to keep catching his breath.

Dinner and a night together had sounded like a fun, no-strings kind of thing, and Bucky had piqued his interest back when Steve had caught a glimpse at the coffee shop, so why not accept a date? But it’d been a long time since Steve had felt cuffs of any kind on him, and that was more of a commitment. Any sex automatically came with a built-in vulnerability factor, but giving over control as a submissive took a lot more trust. Usually Steve wouldn’t move into that sort of territory on a first date — sometimes not even the second, or ever. And then came Bucky with his absolute certainty that Steve would submit in the first five minutes and like it, which should have rankled.

It did the exact opposite. Steve felt something inside him roll over and show its belly, and it confused the hell out of him. Especially when Bucky _didn’t_ try playing games over dinner — trying to order for Steve or control the conversation. He was actually... well, _fun_. Very relaxed, intelligent, and apparently interested in everything Steve had to say.

And though Bucky sat with his back to the wall, Steve couldn’t tell if that was a combat vet’s need for security or to keep his left hand out of sight of the rest of the patrons. Maybe Winter wasn’t Bucky’s _therapy_ dog, but a normal dog who’d undergone practice training for Bucky’s work at the clinic.

“So what do you normally do on a Friday night, if not this?” Bucky asked as he deftly picked open a lobster tail.

Steve put down his spoon to wipe his lips and swallowed his mouthful of cioppino, which Bucky had been right to call sinfully good. The smile that surfaced held a hint of self-deprecation. “Fridays have sort of become pizza and movie night at our house, but I figured Maggie would forgive me if I bailed on her.”

Bucky gave him a startled look. “Maggie?”

“Oh, sorry. Maggie’s a dog. A year-old beagle. If she could do dishes, she’d be my favorite housemate. Don’t tell.” Steve smiled conspiratorially.

Bucky’s smile reappeared, but only for a moment. “You live with someone? Other than Maggie?”

Steve frowned. When he’d mentioned this date to Sam, Sam had sounded like he knew who Steve would be dating. Then he remembered he’d just said, ‘the hot guy across the street’. It made him chuckle to realize that Sam thought he was out to dinner with Clint, and Bucky apparently had no idea that Sam even existed.

“Have you not met Sam yet? He’s a counselor at my clinic. Got me the job there. And got me through the transition to civilian life too. Best friend a guy could have.” He stopped short of suggesting they meet, both because he didn’t want to be presumptuous about the possibility of more dates, and he didn’t want to offend with an implication that Bucky should meet with a VA counselor.

“That mean there’s no one else waiting in bed for you?” Bucky asked with a playful grin. “A guy like you... I’d have a hard time believing it.”

Steve looked down at his plate and hoped he didn’t flush too much at the compliment. He still thought of himself as the ninety-pound weakling he’d been in high school. And apparently his body wanted to react like he was still a shy teenager. “Thanks, but these days it’s a fifteen-pound-ball of wriggly beagle or nothing.”

“I’d say you need to stop hiding, but I’m way the hell too selfish for that.” Bucky’s smile took on a predatory edge. “I can’t decide if I want to strip you myself or just sit back and watch.”

Steve’s heart outpaced his breath and left his voice with no support. “Whichever you like; I’m not picky.” It came out low and scratchy and made him clear his throat and reach for his glass of water.

“Good answer. I’ve had a week to think of what to do with you, so I have a few ideas.”

Steve smiled at that, given Bucky had only called to set up the date that morning. Steve had spent the week failing to avoid thinking about doing anything with Bucky, which meant he had a few ideas of his own. But that was before the prospect of letting Bucky make all the decisions for them both had surfaced. Which Steve had to admit made his mouth water as much as his meal had.

“Looking forward to it. But for what it’s worth, I follow orders to the letter.”

Though Bucky didn’t move, didn’t lean forward or even shift in his seat, Steve had the feeling that, for the first time all night, Bucky’s focus was entirely on him and not the staff and patrons nearby. The look that replaced his smile was intense and heated.

“Now I’m tempted not to give you back to your housemate,” Bucky said softly.

Drawn too deeply into those mesmerizing eyes, Steve spoke before thinking. “He won’t miss me ’til Monday morning, and then only if I’m late buying coffee.”

“I’ll have coffee delivered. He’ll never notice.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky’s earlier five-minute tour of the suite meant he knew the wall to the right of the door was solid, with no inconvenient paintings or mirrors to rattle and break. He followed Steve into the suite, closed and barred the door with his right hand, and carefully caught Steve’s arm with his left. Bucky’s shove was a little rough, a little impolite, but he figured Steve could take it.

Steve’s shoulders hit the wall, and he tensed, bringing up his hands to break Bucky’s hold. The potential for a violent response radiated from him like heat from a furnace — potential that Bucky recognized and accepted. He didn’t know Steve’s MOS or even which military branch he’d been in, but he had a fighter’s instincts. One more thing they shared.

When Steve didn’t lash out, Bucky smiled. “Nice reflexes,” he said, deliberately flattening his metal hand on Steve’s chest, pinning him to the wall. Steve’s heart was racing, and Bucky knew he’d be just starting to feel the rush of adrenaline.

Whatever Steve was going to say, Bucky silenced it with the kiss he’d been craving all night. After one shocked moment, Steve gave in, dropping his hands to Bucky’s hips. He slid down the wall just enough that Bucky didn’t have to even lift his head, and he spread his legs so Bucky fitted right up against him.

He didn’t think Steve was armed. He’d admired the view when he’d followed Steve into the elevator, and there was no room for a back holster under that vest. He might have a holdout revolver at one ankle, but Bucky could watch for that — if he even had to. There was almost no chance that Steve was a threat.

 _Almost_.

But the feel of Steve’s body was everything Bucky had imagined, reminding him that he didn’t _always_ need to be paranoid. Besides, his immediate plans were far more satisfying than rutting up against Steve in the foyer. He nipped Steve’s lower lip just hard enough to sting, then backed off and met Steve’s eyes.

He had to take a couple of slow, deep breaths to be sure his voice was steady. “Hang up your jacket. Then join me in the living room. I want to look at you.”

Steve licked his lips and nodded slowly before responding in what felt like an instinctive way. “Yes, sir.”

Bucky laughed and dragged his left hand up over Steve’s chest to touch his lips. He couldn’t feel the heat or moisture, but the way they yielded, soft and inviting, sent a shiver through him. “No need to call me sir. Sergeant, remember? I worked for a living,” he teased.

Steve kissed the tip of Bucky’s forefinger before it withdrew, his lips pressing plump and red against the silver surface. “Captain, since you didn’t ask, but what’s a ‘sir’ here and there between friends?”

This time, Bucky nearly choked on his laugh. The heavy tension building between them shattered without fading, turning into something that might have inched close to affection. “I should’ve known, fucking baby officer,” he said, moving his hand to Steve’s hair to pull him in for a quick kiss. “If you need help tying your shoes later, let me know.”

Steve smiled widely, eyes delightedly drinking in every bit of Bucky’s reaction. “I’d prefer you let me help you, but I’ll leave that decision in your hands.” He glanced at Bucky’s lips as he pressed his own together, then stepped past Bucky to the tiny closet to hang up his jacket.

Bucky had to force himself to go to the living room, Steve’s words ringing in his head. How the _hell_ had he gotten so lucky? Back at Howling Commandos, he really hadn’t even been sure Steve was into guys. He’d pushed more to get at Clint, who’d been trying for a week to talk Bucky into asking one of his female friends out on a date. Hell, he’d half-expected Steve to walk out or worse.

This, though... This was unexpectedly _perfect_.

He sat down on the couch, put a foot on the coffee table, then gave a good shove, clearing space in front of him. Steve seemed tense without being nervous, as if they were sharing the same sense of anticipation.

Steve walked up to the empty space but not quite into it, and stood with his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands in his pockets. But that was all. He just stood. He didn’t look expectant or uncomfortable, just patient and ready.

That patience was like a drug to Bucky, making him want to see how far he could push before Steve broke. There was fire under that calm, reserved exterior of his.

“Unbutton the vest,” Bucky said, privately suspecting Steve wasn’t the type to get overeager and fumble with buttons. Not this early in the evening, at least.

A hint of a smile played around Steve’s mouth as he glanced down his chest to the top button. Then he met Bucky’s eyes again and smoothly and easily undid the four closed buttons. The last one had been left open, and Steve’s fingers trailed over it to grip the bottom points of fabric and tug them so the vest pulled taut against his chest. Then he let go and allowed his hands to fall at his sides, watching Bucky. Waiting.

And _only_ waiting. There was no snarky, _“Now what?”_ No raised eyebrow as if to ask if that was all Bucky wanted.

Bucky let his eyes trail over Steve’s body, making no effort to hide his appreciation for the view, even clothed. Trying to pick what came next was a tiny slice of hell for Bucky, because he wanted to just tell Steve to strip — to take off everything that hid him from Bucky’s view. But they had all night. There was no need to rush. And patience, especially with someone like Steve, would be infinitely more rewarding.

“Shoes and socks off,” Bucky said, intentionally leaving his instructions vague.

Steve bent at the waist as if to touch his toes and undid the laces on both shoes simultaneously, one with each hand. Bucky wished for a moment he had a view from the back, but this was almost as nice. God, Steve had fantastic shoulders. When he stood back up, there was only a tiny pause before he moved to the coffee table so he could sit on the edge, directly in front of Bucky. Watching Bucky the whole time, Steve crossed his leg to take off his shoe and sock with both hands, then switched legs. He looked away only long enough to tuck everything under the coffee table. Then he remained seated, his elbows on his knees, his hands folded together. Again, quietly watching and waiting.

“You’re too fucking tempting to have in arm’s reach,” Bucky said, allowing himself to be drawn to the edge of the couch. He touched Steve’s face, this time with his right hand, feeling smooth skin at his jaw. “You shaved after work, didn’t you?”

Steve nodded once, slowly, a faint smile on his lips.

He wasn’t talking. Bucky moved his fingertips to Steve’s mouth, wondering just how much of this sort of play he’d done before. Not that Bucky objected to an experienced partner, but... he was starting to feel a little territorial about Steve.

Bucky very nearly told Steve to stop shaving — that he wanted to see if Steve’s beard would come in gold like his hair or darker, maybe with red highlights — but he caught himself in time. This was their first night. Maybe their _only_ night. And as much as Bucky wanted to indulge in a whole list of activities with Steve, he wasn’t one to look more than a couple of weeks into the future.

Instead, he looked down at Steve’s shirt, saying, “I’m _almost_ disappointed you didn’t wear that same shirt as Monday. All I could think was how fucking badly I wanted to cut those buttons open.”

Steve blinked slowly and tried to hide a smirk as he opened his mouth and spoke softly. “You wreck it, you replace it.”

Bucky grinned, thinking only of how fucking _fun_ it would be to find Steve the most gorgeous clothes out there and then wreck them together. “Of all the nights for me to _not_ have a knife,” he said, switching hands. He closed his metal fingertips over the top button of Steve’s shirt, looking into Steve’s eyes, searching for any signal that he was pushing this too far. They widened slightly, and focused inwards for a moment, but when they came back to Bucky they held an anticipatory gleam.

Effortlessly, Bucky crushed the plastic button. It fragmented into pieces and a little powder that fell into Steve’s lap. Bucky moved to the next button, then the next, taking his time to appreciate the slowly widening vee of exposed skin. When he reached Steve’s waistband, he looked up and met Steve’s eyes.

“Lean back.”

Steve took a breath as if he’d been holding it. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned back until he was propped up on his elbows across the coffee table, his stomach a flat expanse in front of Bucky.

 _No breaking the table,_ Bucky reminded himself, though he was damned tempted. He used both hands to open Steve’s belt — without crushing the metal, much as he was tempted to show off. He should’ve had Steve undo his cuffs, and Steve was still wearing the damned vest, but Bucky had already abandoned the plans he’d half-built over dinner. This was all improvisation.

 _So fuck it_ , he thought. There was no reason not to just do whatever came to mind. He unhooked Steve’s waistband, tugged down the zipper, and leaned in to lick from waist to sternum, keeping his touch light.

Steve huffed out a breath at the contact, then slowly and steadily breathed in the whole time Bucky’s tongue was on his skin. When Bucky looked up, Steve’s eyes were watching him, but they were unfocused, pupils huge.

Unable to resist, Bucky ducked back down, this time moving more slowly, angling off to one side. He pushed cloth out of his way as he braced a hand on the coffee table so he could reach Steve’s nipple. Somehow, he resisted the urge to bite, preferring to listen to the way Steve’s breath caught.

“Anywhere I should avoid?” he asked when he lifted his head again.

“God, no.” It came out on an exhale with a laugh in it.

Bucky grinned and forced himself to lean back on the couch. “Then take off everything, before I ruin more than your shirt.”

 

~~~

 

By this point, Steve was fairly certain the evening hadn’t been a dangerous mistake, but a tiny part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Bucky had seemed so urbane at dinner that Steve half-expected him to play dirty once they got to the room. The lack of any negotiation past asking for a safeword had Steve more than usually ready to use it if Bucky pushed too hard or too quickly. It was never a good idea to start playing with a stranger without coming to some sort of understanding.

But Bucky was behaving himself, which was why Steve figured he was missing something. Not that he was complaining about the slow burn of Bucky’s pacing. Much more and Steve would have been overwhelmed. It had been too long since this sort of electric heat had crawled across his skin. Hell, it had been too long since someone else had touched him at all. He was fairly certain that very soon it would take something catastrophic to make him end this evening before he’d drunk his fill of whatever pleasure — or pain — was on offer.

Bucky was still dressed, right down to his buttoned jacket. Steve could feel the soft wool against his bare skin as Bucky pressed close behind him, laying a line of feather-light kisses from one shoulder to Steve’s nape. The warm, tingling thrill that had first spread through his stomach at the kiss in the foyer had only increased in intensity throughout the undressing game, spiking at the button crushing, and had now settled itself in the low curve of his spine, radiating hotly across his hips and making a sharp, arcing connection with the raised hairs on his neck.

He reached back and cupped Bucky’s head, fingers slipping into the midst of his long hair, and pulled him closer, needing more contact from Bucky’s mouth to ground the ticklish pleasure/pain along his spine. The moment he felt resistance, he let go, having completely forgotten that he might not be allowed to touch.

Bucky laughed. “Good boy,” he said slyly before he closed his teeth on Steve’s neck, right at the base. The combination of the praise and the bite made Steve dizzy. Bucky bit slowly, increasing the pressure as seconds passed, and Steve felt himself go boneless and compliant. Bucky’s mouth had just become Steve’s favorite thing.

Bucky’s hands found Steve’s wrists — not circling, not trapping, just touching lightly. “This would probably be easier if you were tied up, huh?” he asked, lips moving against Steve’s skin, dragging from his shoulder to his nape. “Think you can keep still for me on your own, though?”

“Yes, sir.” The automatic response flew out of Steve’s mouth before he could cut it short, but blood was flowing back into the bitten flesh, and the heat that radiated from it was making him fuzzy. He didn’t relish the prospect of losing Bucky’s presence behind him, but already having his wrists touched made them ache to be bound, the skin’s sensitivity heightening in anticipation.

As Bucky stepped back, the tiny part of Steve that was always on alert pricked up and made him rethink being bound and naked with a fully-clothed, possibly-armed combat vet with an inhumanly strong cyber-arm. Steve had given Sam the address and phone number of the hotel, even remembered to text him their room number in the elevator, but his phone was in his pants pocket, out of reach, and he didn’t have any sort of weapon nearby, not even a penknife.

But the flutter in his chest at the mention of being tied up was a strong motivator at the moment. He re-checked the exits, reminded himself that safewording wasn’t a sign of weakness, and tensed and released his arm muscles in readiness for a possible fight. He told himself he was prepared to handle anything, and relaxed, blinking three times, hard and fast, to reset and calm his nerves.

When Bucky’s metal hand touched Steve’s wrist again, something else brushed against Steve’s calf, making him flinch in surprise. Softly, Bucky said, “Easy. Here.”

Fabric pressed against Steve’s left palm. Metal fingers guided his hand to close around what had to be Bucky’s tie. Steve shivered at another soft brush against his legs and backside as Bucky pressed the other end of the tie into Steve’s right hand.

“Wind it around your hands. Don’t let go. Don’t drop it.”

Steve blinked in surprise and was tempted to turn around to look at Bucky. He was letting Steve bind himself. Or, more accurately, he was offering Steve something that would give him the illusion of being bound, the tension that made things exciting, without actually putting him in a position of being unable to get free.

It was impossible to completely hide the sigh of relief that escaped him, so he followed it up with a “Thank you.” Then he did exactly as he was told.

Steve heard the scrape of the coffee table moving across the carpet. Then Bucky’s right hand pressed on Steve’s shoulder. “Any trouble with your knees?”

“No, sir.”

“Down, then,” Bucky said, giving Steve a gentle push. Steve knelt, finding his balance, and let Bucky push him all the way down, so he was sitting back on his heels. Bucky squeezed his shoulder and said, “Stay.” Then his hand disappeared, and Steve heard him walk across the carpet and through the open bedroom door.

Steve closed his eyes and tested the tension in the tie, visualizing the loops around his wrists and the way the ends threaded between his hands. It had been the way that his very first play partner had always bound him, and he knew how to do it to himself without looking. One tug would untie the ropes and free him.

He hadn’t known people got tied up in ways they couldn’t escape for a long time. Not until that smart, sassy dominatrix in Queens had whipped him into shape, almost literally. She’d cuffed him to a bed — all four limbs, spread-eagle — and sat back to watch him deal with not being able to get free. He’d freaked out slightly, but hadn’t safeworded, because every sensation was insanely heightened. Even his vision got sharper when play turned dangerous.

By comparison, this was almost tame — until Steve remembered how quickly Bucky had caught him and pushed him up against the wall. How easily Bucky had crushed hard plastic between his fingertips. How calmly Bucky had mentioned the damage his metal arm could do.

The tie held in Steve’s hands was nothing more than the illusion of safety. Hell, maybe that illusion made this _more_ dangerous than actually being bound. They hadn’t negotiated anything. They hadn’t even discussed limits. Maybe Bucky was just that confident that he’d get whatever he wanted, without the need to bind Steve.

By the time Bucky returned, Steve was breathing steadily but deeply, muscles tensed with readiness. He listened as Bucky put something down on the coffee table. The crinkle of plastic implied condoms and most likely lubricant. Nothing that sounded dangerous. By the shadows on the carpet, Steve knew exactly where he knelt in relation to the couch and the coffee table. He’d dredged up the memory of when he’d glimpsed the door. He knew it opened in and to the right, and that Bucky had latched the security bar as well as the deadbolt.

And when he felt Bucky’s hand in his hair, fingers ruffling through the strands before he gave a sharp, quick tug, all rational thought turned to dust. Steve pushed up into his hand, loving the strength, the confidence, the way Bucky just touched without hesitation.

Fabric brushed against Steve’s legs as Bucky moved in front of him, shoes pressed to Steve’s knees. At another sharp tug, Steve lifted his head and met Bucky’s eyes. He’d unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and opened his jacket, and he stared down at Steve with open avarice and desire.

“Are you even real? You’re too fucking gorgeous,” Bucky said roughly, lifting his metal hand to cup Steve’s jaw.

The compliment spread heat across Steve’s cheeks, and the vision of Bucky standing almost threateningly above him, combined with the mind-bendingly gentle touch of his easily-weaponized hand, had Steve swallowing a whimper of desire. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to not utter the “Please, sir” filling his mouth.

It had been at least two years since he’d last been in this position. Two years since that medic in the desert, the one who knew how to improvise a gag out of stuff he’d swiped from the infirmary. Too long for Steve to be safe and comfortable. Too long for him to want to say _no_ or _stop_ , no matter the risk.

Instead, he just made eye contact, the way Bucky seemed to want, and told himself to just _be there_. That Bucky wanted nothing more than this — to appreciate Steve kneeling at his feet. And when that changed, he trusted that Bucky would tell him what he wanted next.


	5. Chapter 5

This was so far beyond anything Bucky had ever done, he would’ve felt lost, except this felt as natural to him as breathing. More natural, maybe, considering he’d spent two weeks on a ventilator. Steve was more than Bucky could find words to describe. The way Steve stared up at him... It was almost like Bucky could imagine Steve would be content to do nothing more for the rest of the night, as if he didn’t expect anything.

This was new. This wasn’t rough sex with Brock, sex Bucky had loved and hated all at once. This wasn’t like any other one-night stand, some of which ended up with handcuffs and belts and other toys, some that never got any farther than the nearest convenient wall.

There was time enough to freak the hell out tomorrow, though. For now, Bucky just stood there, running his fingers through Steve’s hair, metal hand pressed to Steve’s cheek. And he would’ve had to be blind to not notice that this moment — gentle and calm — was somehow hotter than anything else they’d done so far.

He pulled Steve’s hair and got him to kneel upright. Bucky sat down — damned near fell down — on the edge of the couch, and he guided Steve into another kiss, this time light and unhurried. All the building urgency had crested into a sense of anticipation that no longer had Bucky clawing at his own skin with need. Steve was his. Now, an hour from now, maybe even tomorrow. That was enough.

Steve didn’t drop the tie. He just leaned in, body pressed against the insides of Bucky’s thighs, and returned the kiss like it was all that existed in the world for him. Every muscle strained forward, but he didn’t push. He didn’t try to control the kiss or inch even closer.

It was the most incredible rush Bucky had ever felt, more powerful than the last step out the back of a plane, more exhilarating than feeling the wind of a bullet pass a half-inch from his face. Steve was beautiful and strong and far, far too good for someone as fucked-up as Bucky, and he’d just surrendered himself completely.

“God, you’re so fucking good, Steve,” he found himself whispering into the kiss. His right hand ached where he’d tried to catch Steve’s hair in his fist, but the short strands escaped his fingers. He moved his fingers down to Steve’s nape instead, holding him close.

“Oh, God.” Steve’s whisper seemed almost unconscious, an ungovernable reaction. His brow was furrowed as if in pain, and when he opened his eyes Bucky was shocked breathless at how they pleaded.

Something in Bucky wanted to run, to escape that expectation, because he didn’t know. He didn’t know what Steve wanted, what he himself wanted, even what to do next. He pulled Steve into his arms, running his hands over tight, strong muscles, breathing in the warmth of his body. One deep breath, two, and with a third, he started to relax. He turned his face, and the feel of Steve’s skin against his lips helped to ground him.

Steve let Bucky press against his neck, baring his throat. Bucky’s kiss turned to a bite, and Steve’s quiet, needy exhale — not quite a whimper, not quite a moan — shot through Bucky like a blast wave. His hands ran down to where Steve was still holding the tie. He hadn’t let go. Hadn’t even relaxed his grip.

“Fuck.” Bucky’s hands clenched around Steve’s, and he sat back, needing to see Steve’s expression. The shift in position pulled Steve’s hands up higher behind his back, and though it must have been uncomfortable, Steve hummed low in this throat as if enjoying the burn.

Steve’s eyes were closed, but his face was free of tension — peaceful, even. When Bucky let go of his hands, he kept them there, strained and raised up under his shoulderblades. Maybe Bucky should have done something about that, but his only thought was to take hold of Steve’s face to kiss him again and not stop until he was dizzy for lack of air.

“Steve...” He dragged in a breath and leaned his forehead against Steve’s. “God, I need to be inside you, Steve. Now.”

Steve’s head slowly bent down and back up, a nod without breaking contact, ending with their noses brushing. “Yes.” The breath from the sibilant ending entered Bucky’s mouth still hot, and Bucky couldn’t resist another kiss even as he moved clumsily to the side, off the couch.

When he finally had to pull away, he shivered at the loss. He couldn’t remember ever enjoying kissing someone so much. But the distance, even measured in inches, gave him the space to think rationally again. He sank down to the carpet next to Steve, remembering to guide his bound hands back down, easing the stress on his shoulders.

A push got Steve to lean forward, resting his weight on the couch. Bucky leaned down with him, saying, “Think you can keep being good for me, Steve? How long do you think you can hold out before you beg for more than just my fingers?”

“Fuck,” Steve whispered, face hidden against the couch cushions. He arched his back and pushed his ass against Bucky’s hips, pressing bare flesh against the fabric of his pants. “I can do this all night.”

Bucky laughed, low and wicked. “Which hand do you want?” he asked, deliberately running his metal fingers through Steve’s hair.

Steve’s answer came out choked: “Both. Fuck. But start with the right one?”

A tiny part of Bucky was disappointed by the answer, but at least Steve hadn’t completely freaked out at the thought of Bucky’s metal hand, the way Brock had. He ran his hand down from Steve’s hair to his back and reached for the coffee table, where he’d dumped the condoms, gloves, and lube he’d brought from home. Looking back at Steve’s hands, mangling the tie with white-knuckled strength, Bucky thought he should’ve brought the cuffs he’d stolen from Brock the last time they’d been together.

Next time, he told himself, pushing thoughts of Brock out of his mind. “Spread your legs,” he said, moving behind Steve. As soon as Steve did, Bucky knelt back between his feet and pulled a glove over his right hand. He couldn’t warm the lube very much — not with his metal hand at the chilly edge of room temperature — so he went slow, wanting Steve to relax and enjoy this as much as he himself did.

Light, teasing swipes across Steve’s entrance made Steve grunt and press back for more contact. Bucky slid his finger down, then back up, from Steve’s balls to the base of his spine, with just enough pressure to raise goosebumps over Steve’s legs. He did it again, this time resting his other hand on Steve’s hip, holding him still. When he circled with just the tip of his finger, Steve pushed back again, and Bucky tightened his other hand in warning.

“Just getting started,” he warned, swiping his thumb across his fingers to spread the lube around.

“Yes, sir.” Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly as Bucky went back to his light, teasing touches.

“You’re making me like that, you know,” Bucky said with a quiet laugh. He pressed just enough to feel the tension in Steve’s body give way, then backed off, dragging his finger down.

Steve’s voice was husky. “Your pupils blew wide the first time I said it; otherwise I would have stopped. Whatever you like...” His voice gave out into a tiny moan as Bucky pressed again.

There was no possible way Bucky could answer that. He couldn’t remember anyone ever paying that much attention to him. A twinge of nervousness hit again, because he was really out of his depth. If Steve had noticed such a subtle cue, he hadn’t just played games like this before, the way Bucky had. He’d done more. Maybe he expected more.

Scrambling to recover, Bucky went back to drawing light, soft circles. This time, he tried to pay closer attention to every little reaction, but he found himself second-guessing everything. Was Steve flinching in a bad way or shuddering in a good way? Did the change in his breathing mean he was more aroused or getting bored?

Only too many years of sniper training kept Bucky from rushing ahead and actually pushing a finger inside. Patience was almost always the better option. Besides, he preferred to draw this out, and Steve had said almost the same thing, with his whatever you like.

So he took his time, waiting until Steve’s quick breaths and writhing made it clear that Steve actually was enjoying this. And when Bucky pushed his fingertip inside, Steve’s groan caught on his breath and ended in a sigh.

“Yes.”

Bucky bit down on a relieved sigh of his own and slid his finger out. When Steve made a soft sound of protest, Bucky laughed, feeling his own nervous tension ease. “Not nearly done playing with you yet,” he warned, going back to light brushes of his fingertips.

“Does that” — Steve had to catch his breath and clench and unclench his hands before finishing — “mean I get your left hand now?”

There wasn’t a hint of fear in his voice. Bucky grinned and leaned close as he pushed his fingertip back inside. “That what you want, Steve?”

There was a smile in Steve’s voice, as if he knew what Bucky was fishing for. “Yes, sir.”

Bucky forgot to breathe. He went still, resting his face against Steve’s shoulderblade, chest pressed against Steve’s forearm and fisted hands. “Fuck. How the hell are you so fucking perfect?” he asked roughly as he sat back up and eased his finger out of Steve’s body.

“Fuck. Fuck. Bucky, please.” Somehow, Steve didn’t sound broken or pleading. The word was just short of a command.

Another time, Bucky might have hesitated. Now, he just turned away and pulled off his glove so he could put a fresh one on his metal hand. He rushed, fumbling with the lube. The cap ended up rolling under the couch. He had to stop and take a breath, reminding himself that he didn’t want to end up hurting Steve. Slow and careful, he told himself.

He turned back as quietly as possible, and the sight of Steve’s body captured him once more. He hadn’t moved at all. He just knelt there, chest on the couch, legs spread, the very picture of controlled patience. Bucky hadn’t really looked at Steve — not like this, muscles taut under his skin, every breath a test of willpower against the strength in that perfect body. Bucky was no slouch in hand-to-hand, but he had no doubt that Steve could give him a good run. Probably even take him down.

But Steve had given himself to Bucky, at least for tonight.

Bucky shifted, pushing Steve’s legs farther apart. “Don’t move,” he warned, running his bare hand up the inside of Steve’s thigh. “Can you hold still for me?”

Steve’s body tensed up slightly, then he let out a breath and everything went slack. He sunk a little further into the couch cushions and actually loosened his grip a bit on the tie, not enough for it to get loose, just no longer white-knuckling. Then he took another breath to speak softly but clearly. “Yes, sir.”

Taking a deep breath of his own, Bucky closed his eyes to better concentrate on the signals from his arm, then pushed one finger inside, slowly but steadily. The pressure of Steve’s body sent Bucky’s circuits into overdrive, sparks lighting up and down his arm and into his brain as the protective plates tried to shift and compensate. Bucky bit his bottom lip and turned his wrist just a bit, flexed his finger, and shivered at the feedback.

He had no idea how long he stayed there, unmoving. He could feel his pulse along the edge of his metal shoulder, heart pounding against his ribs. He forced himself to open his eyes, and he flattened his other hand on Steve’s back, above the tie.

“You all right, Steve?” he asked, his voice so rough, it was almost unfamiliar.

“Yeah.” He pushed the word out on a lungful of breath, all the air at the end. “You?”

“You have no fucking idea how good this is.” Another shift, out and back in, barely an inch of movement, turned the sparks in his brain to fire.

“Tell me. What does it feel like?”

Bucky’s laugh was a ragged exhale. He moved again, slowly, and said, “The pressure’s almost too much. Every sensor’s at max. I can feel your pulse, your breathing, everything.” Another push, a little deeper, so Bucky could brush his other fingers against Steve’s balls. The glove blocked him from feeling hair, but the soft skin registered like a kiss.

“Aah, mmm… But what does it feel like? In your body. Tell me.”

“Like lightning. It’s fucking incredible.” Bucky took another breath and opened his eyes, though he couldn’t focus. “It’s like being a part of you. Almost better than it’ll be when I finally fuck you.”

Steve whimpered softly and let go of the tie to reach up and grab hold of Bucky’s right wrist as best he could. The way his body bent, spine arching, made Bucky’s breath catch. Needing to think rationally, he slid his finger almost all the way out. He’d use two, next. Two fingers meant spreading the sensations, giving some of his circuits a rest.

He summoned up a grin, thinking of how much Steve might like that. And because he couldn’t resist being an absolute bastard, he said, “You dropped the tie.”

“Sorry, sir.” Steve sounded contrite but didn’t let go of Bucky’s wrist. He took a breath and shifted his weight on his knees for a moment, then stilled again completely.

Bucky thought about making Steve pick up the tie again, but he was more interested in getting back inside Steve’s body. Two fingers was tight, but Steve pushed back, and Bucky went slow, and now he could think.

He took his time, feeling for what made Steve’s breath catch, matching up the signals from his arm and Steve’s pulse and the movements of his body. Maybe it was cheating, but he was just fine with that. He even freed his wrist from Steve’s grasp and centered himself between Steve’s spread legs so he could let his other hand play. Steve’s cock had softened, but the way he kept pushing back against Bucky’s hand meant he liked what Bucky was doing.

Bucky’s next push was a little harder, a little rougher. He cupped his other hand under Steve’s balls, knowing the gentle touch would be a more powerful contrast for the feel of his unyielding metal fingers. He matched his movements to the rhythm of Steve’s heart and grinned at the low, drawn-out sound of pleasure.

“The tie, Steve,” he said, too breathy to manage a really sharp, commanding tone. “Pick it up again, or I do nothing more than this all night.”

Steve’s breath caught hard, and he stilled completely, pausing just long enough for Bucky to think Steve was considering calling his bluff. The loops around his wrists had loosened, and he slipped both hands out to wind the tie around again and pull it tight with the ends. It took him less than half a minute.

“Good boy,” Bucky said as he gave another hard push.

Steve let out his most abandoned moan yet and might have whispered, “Oh God, yes,” into the couch cushion.

That cracked through Bucky’s self-indulgence. He’d spend some other night doing nothing more than playing with Steve’s body. Tonight, he wanted to see how far he could push Steve’s mind.

So he escalated only with faster, harder movements, and felt Steve’s body relax around his fingers. It took all his self-restraint not to add a third — which might have been too much — or to just pull out and fuck him instead.

Pressing for more, Steve inched back from the couch, giving Bucky’s other hand more room to play. As he coaxed Steve’s cock back to hardness, he asked, “Think you can be good and hold off coming while I fuck you, Steve?”

“Unnmf. Jesus. Y-yes. Yes, sir.”

Bucky grinned, feeling that rush of adrenaline hit again. “If you’re good, I’ll let you pick which hand I use to get you off. How’s that sound?”

Steve raised his head to look back over his shoulder at Bucky. His face was flushed, his eyes bright and unfocused, his mouth slack as he breathed hard. “Please, sir. Yes. Good.”

Exhilaration hit like a drug, impossibly bright and addictive. Bucky pulled his hand back, stripped off the glove, and then got his metal fingers into the softness of Steve’s hair. “Stay,” he ordered, pushing Steve’s head back down against the couch, where he once again melted into the cushion and lay still, breathing deeply.

Mine, Bucky thought, petting down Steve’s back to where his hands still gripped the tie. This time, Bucky suspected he wouldn’t let go, no matter what.

 

~~~

 

The couch cushion felt good on Steve’s face. A little rough along his temple where friction had made the skin sensitive, but the soft support was calming. So was the silk around his wrists, tight but not too much, giving him something to tense against, to use to ground himself. The whole lower half of his body was singing with want and bright with sensation, but he could wait. He was good at that.

And then he heard a belt buckle and zipper, and the rustle of expensive fabric, and a hot, tingling firework of needy anticipation bloomed low in his gut and spread outward to the skin of his lower back and legs and straight down to his balls. He mouthed the word “please” over and over as he heard the rip of a condom packet and the lube bottle squirt and finally felt Bucky’s left hand on his hip at the same time as the tip of his cock pressed up against Steve’s extremely prepared entrance.

Next, the push and the long, stretching slide, and the pause and the pressure and bearing down to accept it all, all of it so much, full and filling, and oh. That. Bucky’s hips against his ass, and a grateful pause. A soft curse. A word of praise that made Steve ache so good. It felt so good.

And finally came the movement. Slow waves at first as they dealt with the pressure, then faster, then harder, hip bones slamming into his ass, and the sounds Bucky made, maybe words, and his own breath filled with sounds pushed out without his say-so. The rub of the cushion on his face and chest reminding him he was more than a hole to be filled, the tie on his wrists giving him a place to direct his desire to touch, pulling against it a way to stay safe, contained.

As if Bucky knew, his hands caught at Steve’s wrists. The right clenched tightly, grinding Steve’s bones together, but the left just locked in place, a cool metal cuff, wide and inescapable, just loose enough to give Steve the illusion that he could break free. Short, sharp thrusts. Bucky’s breath hitched. “Oh, fuck,” he gasped out as Steve felt Bucky’s cock pulse against over-sensitive nerves. “Oh, fuck, Steve. So fucking good,” Bucky panted.

The praise blossomed hot in Steve’s chest and filled his cock. He’d given Bucky what he wanted, let him take what he needed, and doing so had satisfied him on a deeper level than any orgasm ever would.

Slowly, Bucky’s right hand relaxed around Steve’s wrist. Fingertips dragged over Steve’s back, sliding between their bodies, before Bucky pulled free of Steve’s body. One by one, Bucky’s metal fingers straightened, freeing Steve’s left wrist. Steve heard the condom being pulled off, the rustle of fabric, the sound of Bucky’s harsh breath steadying.

Half-crawling, Bucky barely made it over Steve’s leg without falling. He twisted and dropped next to Steve, leaning back against the couch, and said, in a voice that was soft and languid with pleasure, “Come here, babe.”

It took Steve a moment to remember he could move, then to get his knees and legs to bend and support him as he turned, a bit off-balance without his hands to help. Steve sat next to Bucky, leaning a shoulder against his body. Bucky had pulled up his pants without fastening them, and he’d unbuttoned his jacket, but he was still dressed, making Steve that much more conscious of his nudity.

“You’re fucking incredible, Steve,” Bucky said, twisting to get his arm around Steve’s shoulders. His other hand, metal fingers still cool, ran up Steve’s thigh, encouraging him to spread his legs. Before he could touch Steve’s aching cock, he lifted his hand and turned it palm-up. “You want me to wear a glove? I know how to be careful,” he said with a soft laugh. He pressed a kiss to Steve’s ear, adding, “I’ve practiced enough.”

The kiss and the breath on his ear made Steve shiver, his brain still sluggish enough to not get the implication of Bucky’s words for a couple seconds. Then he shivered again in anticipation.

Steve looked down at Bucky’s hand. Each finger was ringed with overlapping metal plates. He could see something dark in the gaps between them, like gaskets or fabric. The palm, though, reminded him of a snake’s scales, a shimmering layer of tiny metal hexagons woven into a mesh. He wanted to touch, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the tie. Also, he hadn’t been told he could.

He looked up into Bucky’s face, expression blurred slightly with satiation, but he saw there a confident anticipation that made him still want to please. Steve had enough of a brain to know that without a glove it would be better for Bucky and his sensors, too. “No. I trust you.”

That got him another soft kiss before Bucky leaned away long enough to pick up the lube. He had to take his arm from around Steve’s shoulders to spread the lube over his metal hand, making it gleam even more brightly in the subdued light of the hotel room. Then he dropped the lube to one side and cuddled close to Steve, brushing his flat hand lightly over his cock. It was cold and slick and hard like nothing Steve had ever felt, and they both caught their breath at the same time.

Then Bucky moved his hand back down, fingers curling. “Tell me if it’s too much — or not enough,” he whispered as he slid his hand back up, fingertips pushing Steve’s cock against his palm. “I want to take my time. Bring you right to the edge. That okay?”

“Yes. Anything. Yes, sir.” Now that he had a view of it again, Steve couldn’t make himself look away from Bucky’s face for anything. Bucky was staring down at his hand on Steve’s cock, though his eyes had gone distant. After a few more slow, careful strokes, his eyes closed, and Steve knew he was losing himself in whatever he was feeling.

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky said softly, tightening his fingers a little more. “I could do this all night, too. Your whole fucking body is perfect.”

The compliment made Steve’s cock twitch in Bucky’s hand, and the reactionary tightening of the fist took his breath away. Bucky hummed with pleasure, resting his head against Steve’s shoulder. He moved only to kiss at Steve’s ear and murmur praise for how good Steve was being, whispering for Steve to show how much he liked what Bucky was doing, and every time Steve felt that hot tension building inside him, Bucky would gentle his touch, metal hand skimming against the front of Steve’s cock until the pleasure subsided to a dull ache once more.

“I’m cheating,” Bucky whispered during one of those dizzy, breathless moments as Steve fought to keep from thrusting against his palm. “I can feel your heart beating. You can’t hide the way your pulse picks up.” He kissed Steve’s ear, then nipped. “You’re mine, Steve.”

The sharp bite of both Bucky’s teeth and his words caught Steve off-guard and sent him reeling. He lost all breath and the tension in him at once. Unable to support his head any more, he slid down until the back of it rested on the edge of the couch cushion and then he had to fight to breathe in again.

“Yes.” He let the ess trail off as Bucky’s hand tightened and sped up, slamming a wave of sharp pleasure into Steve’s body.

“Show me,” Bucky whispered. “Show me you’re mine, Steve. Be good for me. Let me feel it.”

The combination of Bucky’s urgent words in his ear and the unrelenting waves of overwhelming sensation from his hand had Steve unable to disobey even if he’d wanted to. Which he most definitely did not. He braced his bound hands against the floor beneath his back and did exactly what would make Bucky happy. He thrust his hips up to press himself into that miraculous metal hand, and he let himself be split open by the back-arching bolt of pleasure that tore through him. And afterwards, as he slumped onto the floor, his only rational thought was was how badly he didn’t want Bucky to let go.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“We never actually made it off the floor,” Bucky muttered as he kissed Steve’s ear, the side of his throat, his shoulder. Insincerely, he added, “Sorry about that.”

Steve smiled, shivering at Bucky’s kisses, and leaned to the side towards him, taking his weight off his bound hands. “My knees won’t thank you, but the rest of me does.”

“Come on. We both need a shower,” Bucky said, though he didn’t move right away. He nipped at Steve’s shoulder and huffed out a laugh. “You still holding my tie?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bucky shivered at that, and he hid his reaction with another kiss. God, Steve really _had_ done this before. More than just this. And Bucky had no idea how to... undo it, and go back to being just them.

So instead, he got to his feet, saying, “You can drop it. It won’t survive a shower.” He held out a hand, thinking Steve probably wouldn’t be too steady on his feet.

Steve unwound the tie from this wrists and slowly moved his arms forward again, wincing at the strain on his shoulders, before grabbing hold of Bucky’s hand to accept his help standing up. Bucky pulled Steve right into his arms, not really caring about the mess. The kiss was slow and sweet, without the earlier urgency, even though Steve’s body was a dangerous temptation.

“Shower or room service first? You want anything?” he asked when he made himself let go and step back.

“Water. Then shower, then food.”

That sounded like a good plan. Bucky went to the bar, where he found a couple of cobalt blue bottles of water. He opened them both, handed one to Steve, and then went to the bedroom. He picked up the tablet docked beside the bed and asked, “Anything specific I should order, or just dessert?”

When Bucky looked up, Steve was standing in the doorway leaning on the frame, halfway through his water. “Whatever you want is fine.”

Bucky grinned. “So, you just standing there looking gorgeous is okay?”

Steve smiled and looked down at the bottle in his hands. “To be honest, I don’t have a whole lot more in me at the moment.”

“Yeah, neither of us is sixteen anymore. Think you can get the shower started?” Bucky suggested as he opened the room service menu.

“Yes, sir.” Steve finished his water as he pushed off the door frame and headed to the bathroom. The view silenced the uncomfortable little voice in Bucky’s head that wanted to tell Steve to stop saying that — mostly because he _didn’t_ want Steve to stop, which felt backwards.

He shook his head and went back to ordering, not really paying attention to what he picked. He added a pot of coffee, set the delay for forty-five minutes, and then dropped the tablet on the nightstand.

His clothes were a mess, but nothing as bad as Steve’s shirt. Feeling guilty, Bucky went to make sure he had a T-shirt Steve could wear, at least until Bucky could arrange to send over a replacement tomorrow morning. Hell, maybe he’d take Steve’s shirt with him and get something properly fitted. That’d be a good excuse to speak to him again, maybe arrange a second date.

He left his shoes and jacket by the closet, then went into the bathroom as he unbuttoned his shirt. Steve had started the water, but he was leaning against the counter, looking at his wrists. Wincing, Bucky said, “Shit. Did I hurt you?” He put his water bottle down next to Steve’s and reached out tentatively to take Steve’s hands.

Steve let him, saying, “You didn’t; I did. And it’s not that bad.”

Bucky ran his fingers over Steve’s wrists, careful not to put any pressure on his skin. “I’m glad I didn’t bring the cuffs, then. Those things leave bruises if you so much as look at them.” He slid his hands under Steve’s, holding him gently, and leaned in to kiss him. “I’m sorry anyway.”

Steve’s lips were warm and pliant. “Thanks. The hot water will feel good, and I’ll ice them later if necessary.”

_No ties_. Bucky made a mental note for next time — because there would be a next time, he hoped — and backed up enough that he could start unbuttoning his shirt. Then he looked back up at Steve, saying, “You don’t mind company, do you? The shower’s big enough for two. I’d say three, but not with those shoulders of yours.”

Steve frowned and started to speak. “I thought you said—” He paused and blinked a couple times, then started again. “Of course I don’t mind. Whatever you…” His voice trailed off as Bucky took off his shirt, and his eyes drank in Bucky’s left shoulder and arm.

Bucky had to hide a relieved exhale, because Steve didn’t flinch at the sight of the scarring. The wound was gone, excised completely to make room for the metal skeletal structure, joint controls, and circuits. The new scarring was at the edge of the plates, where a layer of artificial skin stretched between living flesh and metal. Those plates were permanent, anchored to Bucky’s skeleton. The rest could be easily replaced when damaged or opened up to get at the mechanisms inside.

“It’s something, huh?” he asked, tossing his shirt in the direction of the bedroom. “I only qualified for the surgery because they had to take most of my shoulder, anyway.”

Steve glanced up at Bucky’s face then back at the arm, taking it all in, wide-eyed. “It’s incredible.” He moved only an inch closer before stopping to ask, “May I touch you?”

Bucky nearly said that it didn’t hurt before realizing that Steve was asking _permission_ , not something more casual. And that was both incredibly hot and incredibly awkward. So Bucky nodded, saying, “Go ahead. You won’t hurt me. Hell, at the right angle, I can stop a bullet.”

Steve reached out to take hold of Bucky’s upper arm, then looked into his eyes as if gauging his reaction. There were fewer sensors in the arm compared to the hand — just enough to warn Bucky if he’d bumped into something — but he could feel the press of Steve’s strong hand against what would have been his bicep.

When Bucky nodded again, Steve slid his hand up over the crest of Bucky’s shoulder, fitting his thumb against Bucky’s titanium collarbone, fingers spreading across Bucky’s reconstructed shoulderblade. Another press, as if to test how the plates flexed and overlapped against the rigidity of Bucky’s skeleton.

Staring as if fascinated, Steve let out a breath and reached to cup his free hand under Bucky’s metal fingers. He slid his other hand down over the arm, until he held Bucky’s hand in both of his. The soft touch was just enough to send electric sensations crawling through Bucky’s wiring and nerves, making him shiver.

That was when Steve looked up through his eyelashes at Bucky, pulled the hand up to his face, and kissed it. Bucky’s breath, which had gone shallow during the examination, hitched at the light press of Steve’s lips. Outside actual sex, when inhibitions were down, most of Bucky’s partners avoided even looking at his arm — and the rest looked at it as if they wanted to dissect it to steal the tech.

“Steve,” he said quietly, turning his hand without pulling away. He touched Steve’s lower lip with one fingertip, closing his eyes to appreciate the way the cybernetics registered the soft, yielding flesh.

“Hmm?” Steve kissed the tip of Bucky’s finger, then turned and tilted his head to allow Bucky’s fingers to trace along his cheek and jaw. He took a step closer and, as Bucky’s hand moved to the nape of his neck, Steve leaned in to kiss his shoulder, pressing his plump lips against the shining metal with something that looked like reverence.

The growing affection Bucky felt went from warm and comforting to almost threatening. He fought the urge to back off, to make some excuse and leave, only because he didn’t want to be done with Steve. Not yet. Maybe not for a while.

“Shower, before room service ends up serving us in here,” he said with a slightly forced laugh. Backing away to take off his pants gave him the excuse to avoid Steve’s eyes.

“Yes, sir.” Steve paused for only a second after Bucky moved away before he got into the shower and started to rinse off.

Able to breathe again, Bucky kicked his pants and underwear after his shirt, pulled off his socks, then finished off the bottle of water. He caught his own gaze in the mirror and hesitated, feeling a little twinge of guilt at how damned much he was liking that _sir_ from Steve. He’d never really gone that hardcore into that sort of thing, and now he was regretting it, because Steve was treating him like he actually knew what the hell he was doing. And really, while Bucky could have gone to look up a few things on the internet, he was too fucking selfish to delay getting into the shower with Steve.

So, fuck it, he thought, turning away from the mirror. He’d see how far he could get on instinct alone, make sure they both kept having fun, and keep that tie away from Steve’s wrists. If he could fake his way through the rest of the night, he’d make damned sure he was better prepared for round two.

 

~~~

 

Somehow, Bucky kept things just this side of polite long enough to clean up, put on a bathrobe, and take delivery of a dessert tray that he brought into the bedroom. He got rid of the bathrobe and climbed into bed next to Steve. Even though they were still basically strangers, Bucky was already entirely comfortable with sprawling out on top of him. “You should have a beard,” he complained, reaching blindly for the tray. He found something with sticky sauce that proved to be fudge, redundantly coating a rich bite-sized brownie. “You like chocolate, right?”

Steve nodded, his hands behind his head, an amused smirk on this face. “I’ve never had a beard.”

Bucky huffed and hid his grin by eating the brownie. He deliberately licked one finger clean, looking down into Steve’s eyes.

“Do you need help with that?” Steve’s eyebrows went up with the question, but his eyes were locked on Bucky’s mouth and fingers.

Bucky turned his hand and dragged another chocolate-covered finger over Steve’s lips. “You should still have a beard, you know,” he muttered, letting his eyes close as he felt Steve’s tongue light up the pressure sensors. “God, your fucking mouth. Why didn’t we do that?”

Steve sucked on the tip of the finger, hollowing his cheeks, then pulled off it with a tiny, wet pop. “Because you didn’t tell me to.”

Bucky’s exhale was stuttered. “Then I’m a fucking idiot.” Steve’s eyebrows raised almost to his hairline this time, and he just looked at Bucky, his earlier patience showing itself again. Bucky huffed out a laugh and turned his hand again, swiping his chocolate-covered thumb over Steve’s lip. “You distracted me, being all... perfect. Your fault,” he said, and ducked his head to lick at Steve’s mouth before Steve could actually call him on being an idiot.

Steve’s hum in response sounded pleased, and he gave Bucky complete access to his mouth. Bucky searched out the last taste of chocolate before indulging in a kiss until the awkwardness passed, leaving him content and more than a little interested in picking up where they’d left off earlier.

Still, Steve had wanted food — hadn’t he? — so Bucky split the dessert about seventy-thirty, too caught up in feeding Steve and feeling Steve lick his fingers clean to bother feeding himself. And he forgot all about the coffee until much later, after he finally got to feel Steve’s mouth, and then insisted on reciprocating while pinning Steve’s hips to the bed, teasing until he finally begged.

Thankfully, that was the last thing they did. Otherwise, he might’ve done something _incredibly_ stupid, like brought up questions of health and past partners, because the only thing better than watching Steve fall apart would’ve been watching his reactions without a condom between them.

Wrung out and half-exhausted, he left Steve in bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door before he turned on the bright lights over the mirror. All he wanted was to climb into bed with Steve and sleep for a week, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that would happen. And as much as he would’ve liked to stay and watch Steve sleep, he was too tired.

He thought — hoped — that he had a shot of a repeat with Steve, but that wouldn’t happen after one of Bucky’s nightmares.

So he cleaned up quietly and returned to the bedroom, where he found Steve dozing. As quietly as possible, Bucky pulled on his socks, underwear, and pants. His shirt was a mess, but all he had in his bag were a T-shirt and jeans. He left the T-shirt folded on the bathroom counter for Steve, put the jeans back in his bag along with Steve’s ruined shirt, then finished cleaning up. A few taps on the tablet arranged for room service to bring Steve breakfast at eight. He looked like the type who still got up at a disgustingly early hour.

But instead of escaping as soon as he had the chance, he left his bag by the door and went back into the bedroom. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple, feeling a little guilty — and _very_ cowardly. When Steve stirred, Bucky said, “Go back to sleep.”

Steve’s shoulders tensed for a second, then he relaxed into the pillow again and whispered, “Yes, sir.”

_Fuck._

Bucky had to work to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and allowed himself one last kiss.

Then he got the hell out, before he could do something stupid and ruin everything.

 

~~~

 

Winter was there to greet Bucky as soon as he unlocked the door to his apartment. The dog’s wagging tail and _sit_ position told Bucky that it was safe. He walked in, closed the door, counted the locks that automatically engaged, and then sighed, letting the overnight bag fall from his fingers.

“Fuck,” he told the dog, who took that as an invitation to get him a tennis ball. Bucky took it and gave a halfhearted throw that earned him a dirty look before Winter loped after it.

Refusing to be guilt-tripped by a dog, Bucky threw his mail down on the breakfast bar and draped his jacket over a stool. He swiped through the mail, spreading it across the counter, half-heartedly looking for anything interesting. Which the thick ivory envelope _definitely_ was not. Fuck, who mailed things with calligraphed addresses anymore? Politicians and relatives. Neither of whom he wanted to deal with, especially not now.

Instead, he dragged himself to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake. Winter abandoned the effort to get him to play and instead hopped up onto the bed, curling up against the pillow where, if Bucky were a normal person, Steve might have been sleeping tonight.

The thought made Bucky huff in irritation. He threw his socks at the open door to his walk-in closet, then fell back onto the bed and stared up at the high ceiling. He folded his right hand under his head; with the left, he felt under his pillow until his fingertips touched the butt of the SIG he kept holstered near the headboard.

No, he was better off leaving Steve alone. They’d both get some sleep that way, and there would be no awkward morning-after questions.

He got under the blankets and pressed his back against Winter, who stayed where he was, a reassuring warmth that would let Bucky sleep, knowing someone — even a dog — had his back.

Not that Bucky felt any better about his decision to abandon Steve.

_Fuck_.

 

~~~

 

Internal clocks could be a blessing or a curse, and waking at six a.m. in a phenomenally comfortable but definitely unfamiliar bed, Steve wasn’t quite sure which it was today. He reached out to find the bed empty, and only then remembered not just who wasn’t there, but also when he’d taken his leave.

_Shit._

Steve had been wrung out enough from the night’s entertainment that when Bucky had told him to sleep he’d chosen to follow the order and not think about why it had been given. But he should have known it would feel awful to wake up alone after a night like last night.

He was usually really good with aftercare. The shower had been grounding and the food had helped, even if it was all sugar and fat. But it had seemed like Bucky couldn’t make up his mind whether to fully leave the dynamic or keep it going, which really hadn’t helped Steve find himself again. He shouldn’t have kissed Bucky’s metal shoulder. That had crossed a line he hadn’t been aware of.

_Shit._

He stretched out across the bed and flexed his leg and arm muscles, then sat up to check the stiffness in his shoulders. In the light coming through the curtains, he peered at the light bruising on his wrists. Not too bad. He wouldn’t notice any of it in a day. Which was probably a blessing, given he had no idea if what had just happened was a one-time thing or not. Since everything sort of unraveled at the end there, maybe that was for the best.

He turned to get out of bed and saw the tablet on the bedside table, docked and faintly glowing, with a notification of some sort. Steve picked it up and glanced at the check mark that meant check-out was complete, then looked at the frankly enormous room service order for breakfast at eight a.m. He huffed, both at the attempt at consideration and the absurdity of him sticking around for another two hours.

He stood up and stretched his back, then walked out to the living room to find his clothes, only then remembering the shirt would be unwearable. And apparently missing. He gave up looking in favor of availing himself of the single-serving toiletries in the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. That was where he found the T-shirt. It would look ridiculous with his suit pants and vest, and when he pulled it on he realized how _not_ the same size he and Bucky were, but it would have to do. And, he had to admit, it was a nice gesture.

He ended up staring at his face in the mirror for too long — until what he saw didn’t look familiar anymore — and then he cursed himself for jumping so far in on the first night. It had just been so easy to give Bucky what he wanted. And it had felt so good to do so. Steve blamed it on being out of practice. And being idiot enough to pick a baby dom to start up with.

He went home to take a hot bath in his own tub, then curl up with Maggie for the rest of the morning until he felt less like everything was his fault.


	7. Chapter 7

Sleep apparently wasn’t an option for Bucky. He slid into REM sleep just long enough for a nightmare to jolt him back awake, and by nine o’clock, he gave up.

Winter must have picked up on his mood. The dog stuck to his side as he went into the bathroom, then sat outside the shower while Bucky let cold water shock his system into alertness. He wrapped up in a towel and left a trail of wet footprints parallel to the clothes scattered through the apartment. One touch started the coffee pot running, and his eye fell on the mail he’d collected last night.

“Fucking shit,” he muttered, looking at Winter. The dog grinned up at him, so he opened the jar of biscuits, then tossed one up in the air. Winter caught it perfectly, landing in a furry flop to crunch through it.

“I have an idea,” he said, deliberately looking away from the envelope. “Shopping, then the park. How’s that sound?”

Helpfully, Winter’s tail thumped in response, and he looked up from a smattering of cookie-dust.

“Ugh,” Bucky told the dog, and left him to the biscuit. This was the type of day that definitely required pants.

 

~~~

 

As soon as Bucky stepped out into the too-bright sunlight that even his darkest sunglasses couldn’t soften, he amended his last coherent thought to pants _and_ a weapon. Preferably one with a scope. Because fucking _Brock_ was there, lurking on a bench right outside the lobby doors.

Thank God Winter had the presence of mind to put himself between Bucky and Brock. Unfortunately, the dog’s movement caught Brock’s attention before Bucky could consider a strategic retreat.

“Why the fuck are you still in New York?” Bucky demanded instead, walking right for the curb. Not one to take a hint, Brock followed.

“What’s wrong with New York? I like it here.”

Bucky gritted his teeth and kept walking. He’d traded down his leather jacket for the lightest one he owned, but it was still too warm. He’d lost his heat tolerance after going from the desert to an air conditioned hospital for too many months. Maybe he needed to move to Alaska. It was probably cool enough that he could wear a jacket year-round, and even if he didn’t, no one there would give a damn about his metal hand.

“Rough night?” Brock asked, falling into step on the other side of Winter, who stuck to Bucky’s left side like he was glued there.

“Fuck off.”

Brock’s laugh grated on Bucky’s nerves — not because it was unpleasant, but because it was the fucking hottest thing about him, that stupid laugh. And every time Bucky heard it, he liked it and then hated himself for liking it.

“Really. What the fuck do you want, Brock?” he asked as he reached the corner. He was tempted to take a cab, but then Brock would either get in with him or follow. Better to walk off the excess irritation so he didn’t end up strangling Brock and dumping his body in a fountain somewhere. He started towards Union Square.

“Your sister’s getting married.”

 _Which one?_ Bucky almost asked before realizing that would lead to an actual _conversation_. With Brock. The one person he didn’t want to have a conversation with. But at least that explained the heavy cream envelope on the breakfast bar, and now Bucky could burn it in the fireplace with a clean conscience.

“I need to find a date to take to the engagement party. And the rehearsal dinner. And it’s a destination wedding, so —”

“I know what my uncle pays you on top of your regular salary. You can afford someone.”

“Bucky.” Brock sighed. “Come on. What happened between us... We were both in a bad place.”

“Which part of ‘if you come near me again, I will gut you’ did you misunderstand?”

“We were practically trying to kill each other at the time. It’s understandable.”

Bucky shook his head and suppressed his laugh. Brock did have a point. And an inhuman talent at bringing out the worst of Bucky’s temper.

They walked up Fourth Avenue in silence that never really got comfortable, though it did turn a little less prickly. Another time, Bucky would’ve been darting looks at Brock. He really was nice to look at, as long as he kept his fucking mouth shut.

Compared to Steve, though, he was nothing.

 _Steve,_ Bucky thought, feeling another twinge of guilt. Was he furious that Bucky had slipped out in the middle of the night? Was there even a vague shot in hell that Steve would ever want anything to do with him again? And ugh, Bucky was going to have to do research. _Reliable_ research.

Then again... He felt a wicked grin tug at his lips as he realized he could always go do that research in person. He knew of a few fetish clubs that weren’t too far away. And if Brock was tailing him...

“That smile mean you’re rethinking the invitation?” Brock asked.

Bucky smiled at him. “Fuck off, Brock. Really. Go the fuck away, before I push you into oncoming traffic and wreck some poor taxi driver’s whole fucking day.”

This time, Brock took the hint. He stopped at the next corner, and Bucky turned down 14th Street, heading for the park. Shivers crawled down his spine at the thought of Brock behind him, but he forced himself to keep walking for the one block it took him to get to Union Square Park. And once he was in the trees, he was able to relax.

The rest of the day went far more smoothly. The clerks at Saks barely blinked when he handed over Steve’s ruined shirt to get his sizes. While Winter drank bottled water from a silver bowl and munched on organic biscuits, Bucky spent a half hour looking over fabric selections and styles before making his choices. And they promised Monday morning delivery, which meant Bucky didn’t have to awkwardly show up at Steve’s office to replace his ruined clothes.

Feeling much better about the day, he took Winter to Central Park. Off-leash hours ended at nine, but they were able to relax under the shade trees until the warm weather made Bucky decide to retreat.

And best of all, when Bucky returned home, there was no sign of Brock. Maybe his luck was turning around after all.

 

~~~

 

Steve was only able to hide in his room until Saturday at noon, when Maggie heard Sam moving around the apartment and scratched at the door. Steve went to let her out and saw Sam carrying two plastic bags of take-out cartons. “Lunch,” Sam told Steve, giving him a warning look about the consequences of refusal.

Steve shrugged and gave in to the inevitable — making things awkward with Sam over the awkwardness of Bucky would be the worst tactical move he could make. Besides, he’d had enough time that he was in no danger of doing something embarrassing like getting weepy about it. At least he was safely past that level of subdrop.

So he let Sam fuss, dividing food onto plates and finding Cokes rather than the beer that was in the fridge, because Sam wasn’t going to bring alcohol into a night-after conversation. Not with what he knew of Steve’s preferences.

Their apartment was just big enough for a bistro table behind the couch, and Maggie fit perfectly under their chairs, going from one to the other in hopes that someone would drop food. Sam gave Steve enough time to clear half his plate and not nearly enough time to gather his thoughts before asking, “So, how’d it go?”

Steve set his chopsticks down at the edge of his plate before looking up and then back down. “God, Sam. I don’t know, great and awful?”

“‘Awful’ as in you put out a hit on him, we’re calling the cops, or I should play protective older cousin if he calls back?” Sam asked with a faint smile.

Steve dropped his hunched shoulders and smiled back, surprised at how relieved he was to be able to calm Sam’s fears. He held up his wrists, which were only showing the faintest bruising. “This is the extent of the damage. It wasn’t anything like that. I just…” He pressed his lips together in thought. “I’m pretty sure he won’t call back, and if he does I should probably turn him down.”

“You want me to talk to him for you?” Sam asked, trying to be subtle about looking at Steve’s wrists.

“No, Sam. It’s fine. It’s about being... _present_. I don’t know how to explain it, but when you enter into an agreement to play like we did, there has to be a level of aftercare, sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally. He was a gentleman about a lot of things, but he missed the emotional side of it, and I just ended up feeling really shitty.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a huff that made his bangs flutter. “It happens sometimes, but it’s good form to try to minimize the extent. Bucky’s got bad form.”

“Again, I’m offering to keep him the hell away from you,” Sam said, and though his voice was calm, Steve could hear the steel underneath it.

Steve’s fondness for his housemate was already unwieldy, but Sam’s protectiveness at that moment broke open a bubble of warmth in his chest that pushed it off the charts. “Thanks, buddy, I appreciate the offer. But odds are high it’s a moot point. And if not, I’d prefer to talk with him myself. I think it’s a matter of not knowing any better than one of malicious intent.”

Sam’s shoulders eased. “You change your mind, let me know. I’ve still got connections, and an F-16 only needs line-of-sight to take out a target. He’ll never even know what hit him.”

The image of a fighter jet tearing through Manhattan to take out Bucky surprised a laugh out of Steve, loud enough to startle Maggie into bouncing around the table and barking at them both. Sam rolled his eyes and flicked a wonton off his plate, and Maggie pounced on it.

“Now see what you did?” Sam asked, kicking at Steve under the table. “You get to walk her tonight.”

Steve felt his grin widen his face and thanked all the deities out there that they’d put Sam in his path. “Happily. It’s the least I can do for making her be my aftercare buddy all morning.”

 

~~~

 

Steve might have considered contacting Bucky, but Sam insisted on dragging Steve to the city the next day. They argued good-naturedly about replacing the couch, which was becoming heavy on springs and light on cushions. For lunch, they made the mistake of trying a new Indian place, then walked down to a bar for early drinks. By the time they came back to Brooklyn, they had to flip a coin to see which of them took Maggie for her evening walk. Steve lost, and when he finally crashed, feet aching, he slept for nine solid hours.

He was himself again by Monday morning, when he and Sam opened up the office at the VA. While he was digging into his usual accumulated email — primarily from clients who hadn’t wanted to call the hotline over the weekend but wanted an expedited appointment — Darcy appeared in the doorway to his office.

“Since when do you shop at Saks and is it boxers? Can I see?” she asked, grinning slyly at him as she held up a package wrapped in glossy white paper.

Steve blinked at her. “I _don’t_ shop at Saks. What are you talking about?”

“Oh, if this isn’t ‘Steve Rogers, care of the VA’...” she said, reading off a label affixed to the top of the package, “I can open it for you, boss. No problem.”

“No! That’s okay. Leave it here with me.” He reached out his hand for it, but he’d be damned if he was going to get up and look too eager.

“You sure? Cause it’s no trouble,” she offered sweetly. She gave it another shake. “Unless you need help fitting whatever it is. Or want a girl’s opinion. Because one of us in this office has fashion sense, and while it’s probably not me, I can fake it.”

“Darcy.” Steve didn’t quite use his Captain’s voice or _the look_ , but it was a close thing. “Give it here. And close the door behind you when you leave.”

“You got it,” she agreed, handing him the box. “Watch for pins. Or, well, I have band-aids if you can’t reach.” Snickering under her breath, she left, closing the door.

Steve shook his head at Darcy, then frowned at the box on his desk. It was still a couple months until his birthday and even then, Aunt Vera preferred to give gifts in person. His work email pinged with another notification, and it reminded him he had work to do instead of sitting around staring at a box. He’d set it aside to open at lunch when the idea of it being in the room unopened that whole time almost drove him out of his seat.

He tore into the package and pulled out no fewer than three dress shirts, all designer labels, each a different color and style: one light blue with a classic collar, one in dark gray with a spread collar, and one a bit more casual in dark blue with a button-down collar. There was no note, just a gift receipt, and Steve stared at them stupidly until he laughed out loud. Someone had taken the ‘you wreck it, you replace it’ challenge a bit too seriously.

Well. He had to admit that Bucky was a considerate bastard when it came to material things. The question was whether he could be trusted with intangibles.

Steve set everything aside, including whether and how to thank Bucky, until after lunch. Hopefully by then he would have a better handle on how he felt about seeing him again. Hopefully.

 

~~~

 

Bucky _wanted_ to go down to Howling Commandos. Clint was out of the country on a job, but the other trainers were probably there, working with the pups, and Rover would be lonely without someone to play fetch. But it was too close to the VA — too soon for Bucky to know if he was even allowed back in Brooklyn anymore — so he stayed in the city, which was really more his territory anyway.

He ended up at his favorite Manhattan coffee shop with the laptop he rarely broke out and a portable hotspot. The coffee shop probably filtered the sort of sites where Bucky was going to end up doing his research, once he got the guts to actually type it into a search window. For now, he was splitting his late lunch plate with Winter, who’d been doing much better after the switch to a real food diet. As it turned out, kibble did nothing good for dogs — especially big breeds that were prone to bloat — and a real food diet actually cut down on the begging.

Besides, Winter was a hell of a lot better at catching turkey bacon than pieces of kibble, and that was always a good ice-breaker. Not that Bucky was interested in actually flirting with the waiter, except to pass the time. In fact, every hot guy he came across ended up compared to Steve, and not one matched up to those standards. Or those shoulders.

He still hadn’t worked up the courage to venture into the dark side of the internet when his phone rang. It wasn’t the _danger_ ring, which meant it wasn’t Brock or a relative, so he took the call without looking at the screen.

“Barnes,” he answered without hesitation. After coming back from the desert, he’d had to work on remembering his name at an instinctive level.

“You’ve got a very liberal definition of ‘replace’.”

Bucky’s laugh was meant to sound casual and completely failed. He was grateful this was a phone call and not Skype, because he felt a ridiculous grin cross his face before he could stop himself. “Yeah, well, I didn’t know what color you’d like.”

“Hmm.” Bucky was willing to bet Steve was smiling on the other end, which turned Bucky’s grin just a little smug. “Well, blue was a good choice, for future reference.”

“Wear the gray one next time, so I can ruin it,” Bucky said without thinking.

The pause on the other end of the line had Bucky wondering if Steve had called to say there wouldn’t be a next time. But then, why even bring up ‘for future reference’ at all?

“Next time.”

Bucky waited, but the silence dragged on. Leaning forward, Bucky ruffled Winter’s ears with his right hand and said, “Or not. Whatever. It’s fine. Enjoy the shirts. They’ll look— ”

“Pick a quiet spot for dinner where we can talk first, and then we’ll see if the knives get to come out.”

Bucky’s hand went still. “What? Dinner?” he asked blankly.

“You want to see if the shirt fits, right? Find us a place to talk some night this week.”

“Zenkichi,” Bucky said without thinking. “It’s in Williamsburg. I can — Should I make reservations?”

“Yes.” The smile was back in Steve’s voice. “I almost always leave work before six and could meet you there by seven.”

Bucky sat back, and Winter followed, jumping up to put his front paws in Bucky’s lap. Should he offer to drive? This didn’t sound like a breaking-it-off conversation. There wasn’t even a need for that, really. Not after one night. “The tasting menu takes a couple of hours. I could drive, if you want. Maybe Friday?” he asked, getting all of his thoughts completely out of order.

“I can get myself there and home just fine.”

Bucky winced, fingers digging into Winter’s fur. “Okay. I’ll” — _not talk,_ he thought frantically — “text you the details?”

“Sounds great. Looking forward to it.”

Bucky hung up before he could give in to the impulse to ask if Steve was serious or not. He dropped the phone on the table and let out a sigh that had Winter licking at his face. He gave the dog a quick, reassuring hug and pushed him down. He ignored the waiter’s flirtatious smile as he started packing up his laptop. “Check, when you get the chance,” he said, dropping a credit card on the table. He wanted nothing more than to go back home and hide for a week.


	8. Chapter 8

“How the fuck can one dog produce _this much fur?_ ” Bucky demanded, trying to find a clean spot on his shirt so he could wipe off his face. There was no hope for it, and he retreated to the kitchen in a cloud of hazy black and white.

Winter followed, wet feet slapping on the hardwood. Bucky stuck his head under the faucet to try and wash off his face, and the dog actually had the gall to wag his tail as if pleased.

“This is why they have groomers, you know,” Bucky threatened, though they both knew it was an empty threat. Bucky didn’t particularly like other people petting Winter too much. The idea of someone else actually bathing and brushing _his_ dog... Just, no.

He stuck his tongue under the water to get rid of the last of the fur, then pulled a clean kitchen towel out of the drawer so he could dry off. Everything was contaminated. He was going to have to call in the cleaning service, which meant locking everything away in the safe and then dealing with the knowledge that someone else had been here. He’d end up uncomfortable for a week. Maybe he should just buy a damned vacuum himself.

“I should shave you,” he muttered as he scrubbed the towel through his hair.

Winter, bastard that he was, just wagged his tail harder.

Before Bucky could go back to the pile of fur that had been his living room, his phone rang. It was the third _danger_ ring today, which meant either it really was a crisis or... well, it was _someone’s_ idea of a crisis. Probably his fucking sister wanting him to be a bridesmaid or whatever.

But it might be marginally better than going for the brush again, so he picked up the phone. “What?”

The deep, too-cheerful, too-hearty voice was definitely _not_ his sister. “James, there you are.”

Bucky bit down on a groan. “Hey,” he muttered.

“I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day. I’m glad I caught you. I’m leaving town tomorrow morning, but I couldn’t go without seeing my favorite nephew.”

_Your only nephew,_ Bucky thought, sliding down the cabinets to sit on the kitchen floor. Winter flopped right next to him, wet undercoat soaking right into Bucky’s jeans. “You’re in New York.”

“Just reviewing some contracts, a small press conference — nothing major. What do you say we go to Masa? Japanese is still your favorite, isn’t it?”

Sighing, Bucky lied, “I had it last Friday.”

“Per Se?”

Bucky let his head fall back against the cabinet. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Excellent. I’ll send a car to get you?”

“I’ll meet you there,” Bucky said, suddenly understanding Steve’s desire to make his own way to Zenkichi later in the week. Not that Bucky could get trapped at Per Se, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Of course. Eight o’clock sound good?”

Only his uncle could get same-night dinner reservations at Per Se. Bucky shrugged. “Fine.”

“See you then. And James?”

“Yeah?”

“Wear a jacket. There’s a dress code.”

Bucky hung up and held out the phone to Winter. “Want it?”

Winter just gave him a doggie grin.

“Yeah. Me, neither,” Bucky muttered, skittering the phone across the kitchen floor, wishing he’d had the guts to tell his uncle to fuck off.

 

~~~

 

Secretary of Defense Alexander Pierce wasn’t one for _subtle_. He lived for the public spotlight — in this case, a table in the dead center of Per Se, with its bright white tablecloths and wide windows. Bucky had arrived as late as he could courteously manage, which meant his uncle was chatting and laughing with two waiters who probably had better things to do than entertain a bored politician.

And of course it was just his fucking luck that Brock was there, at the next table over, paired with a woman Bucky didn’t recognize. Brock’s black-on-black suit looked offensively good and matched her little black dress perfectly, and Bucky had to bite his cheek to keep from asking if they had matching guns.

Instead, he went over to his uncle and suffered through a handshake and one-armed hug. The artificial _click_ of a digital camera made him flinch, and he glanced over to see a man standing off to the side. Press corps or some shit.

“Really?” Bucky muttered, meeting his uncle’s eyes.

“Indulge an old man, James. It’s not like I ever see you anymore.” Uncle Alex picked up his napkin, sat back down, and spread the napkin over his lap. Hiding a sigh, Bucky did the same. “I wish you’d reconsider coming back to DC.”

“I’m happy in New York,” Bucky lied, wondering if maybe he should’ve tried to go elsewhere. Like Australia.

“Well, I can’t blame you. To be young and single in New York...” Uncle Alex gave Bucky his trademark insincere smile and leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve got some friends down on Wall Street. They could take you around, introduce you to —”

“Don’t,” Bucky interrupted before anything about _nice girls_ could cross the table. He’d put up with a lot for the sake of his fraying family ties, but not that.

Uncle Alex hadn’t become Secretary of Defense without learning some political skills. He held up his hands and sat back, waiting for the staff to pour the wine and serve the first course. “Sorry. There’s just all this talk of marriage, these days. You _are_ coming to Rebecca’s wedding, aren’t you?”

Flinching inwardly, Bucky said, “I’ll have to see.”

“See what? You don’t have a job. Not that there’s anything wrong with living off your investments,” he said, flashing his smile again.

Resigned to an entire night of jabs like that, Bucky returned the smile as best he could, which wasn’t very. Maybe if he was lucky, someone would stage an impromptu assassination attempt or hostage-taking, and he could arrange to get himself shot again. But no, that would just give Uncle Alex easy access to visit Bucky in the hospital under the guise of being his next-of-kin.

Enduring dinner was probably a better option, he told himself, right as the camera _clicked_ again.

_Or not._

He had the sneaking suspicion that by the time dessert came around, the assassination idea would be looking pretty damned good.

 

~~~

 

_Steve? Are you there?_

Only Aunt Vera treated texting like a phone call, checking to see if the connection was good before launching into a conversation. Steve swiped open his phone with his left hand, his right occupied with brushing his teeth. A check-in at ten-thirty on a Tuesday night wasn’t out of the ordinary, but was worth responding to promptly. Uncle Harry’s diabetes had been getting harder to handle recently.

Steve turned around and leaned against the sink, leaving his toothbrush in his mouth to type with both hands.

_Yeah, what’s up? Everything okay?_

Aunt Vera’s response took a couple of minutes, probably because she insisted on using proper grammar in texts. Steve took the opportunity to finish brushing his teeth. Her response came as he was rinsing: _Everything’s fine, dear. I need you to go to Per Se on Columbus Circle, by Central Park. That fucking asshole Secretary of Defense is there, and someone needs to tell him to get his head out of his ass and get our troops out of the Middle East. Can you be there by eleven?_

Steve smiled to himself at her commitment. She had been following Alexander Pierce’s career since he’d been doing shady business deals down at city hall in the seventies. Now it was defense contracts, and still no one wanted to print her articles. Until she could keep them from being subject to libel laws — as in, confirm the accusations were true — she was sending tirades into the ether.

_No, Aunt V, I can’t spend the night protesting. Gotta be up at six for work._

_But he’s been there since eight,_ she answered, confusing Steve for a moment, because she’d _never_ sent such a short text. Then his phone buzzed again, this time with a picture attached to the text: _Someone needs to confront that bastard. And it should be you. Look! He’s using a disabled veteran for a fucking photo op! Go take that gorgeous roommate of yours and give him your opinion. In little words, since the asshole probably can’t read._

The photograph showed Alexander Pierce — familiar, thanks to Aunt Vera’s news updates — at an elegant dinner table with a young man with long brown hair wearing an expensive suit and a scowl.

Underneath was the caption: _Sec of Def Alexander Pierce at dinner with veteran Sgt James Barnes, wounded in action. #veteranspride #nofilter_

Steve nearly dropped his phone into the bathtub. He went directly to his room where he sent the photo to his email so he could open it on his laptop screen. That was definitely Bucky. What the hell was he doing schmoozing with Pierce?

He took a minute to compose a polite this-conversation-is-over text before he allowed himself to get angry.

_I agree that the picture is very upsetting, and I’ll get in touch with the vet, but I’m already in bed and need to sleep. You do too, Aunt V. I’ll let you know if I learn anything new. My love to Uncle H. xo_

He set his phone aside and stared at the picture for way longer than it merited. Then he found the original post on Instagram and learned nothing new, except further up the feed Pierce’s niece, Rebecca, had gotten engaged and the asshole had used it as a photo op.

But where had he seen the name crop up recently?

Ah, yes. Pierce’s brother and his wife were on the plaque at Howling Commandos. Where Bucky volunteered. Odd connection, but one that dealt with disabled vets. Was Pierce using Bucky to whitewash his image with the armed forces after all his messed-up policies regarding the back-door draft and big business defense contracts?

Aunt Vera was right. Pierce was a fucking asshole.

He turned back to the Instagram account and saw another photo had been added, just minutes ago. It showed Pierce and Bucky standing at the table, with Pierce giving Bucky the sort of hug that politicians mastered for photographs, rather than a real hug that would look awkward in print. The caption was identical to the first — and this time, Bucky’s metal hand was visible on Pierce’s shoulder.

 

~~~

 

“So, did you drive?”

Bucky gritted his teeth, hearing Brock’s smooth voice at his back. He’d known Brock followed him out of the restaurant, but he’d hoped — foolishly — that Brock was just getting Uncle Alex’s car ready.

“There’s no parking around here,” Bucky said, resolutely walking, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Can I give you a ride?” Bucky turned a flat glare on Brock, who answered with a charmingly crooked smile. Brock shrugged, saying, “Come on. It’s almost midnight. Besides, you were drinking.”

The irritation turned to anger crackling through Bucky like lightning. “You don’t fucking take ‘no’ for an answer, do you?”

“Not when it’s someone I care about.”

_“Care?”_ Bucky let out a sharp laugh. “When the _fuck_ —” He cut off, flinching in surprise as his phone vibrated against his ribs.

Brock put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Bucky jerked away and took the phone from his jacket pocket. He kept it hidden from Brock’s sight as he swiped in the security code and opened the text.

_We need to talk tomorrow._

From Steve.

Bucky went cold inside. He’d seen those texts before. ‘We need to talk’ was code for ‘We’re through, and I’m too pissed to explain why.’ And there was _nothing_ that would fix it, either. Not patiently waiting for ‘tomorrow’, not insisting on talking it out on the spot, not ignoring it or being polite or even throwing a fucking tantrum. It was death row.

“Bucky?” This time, it came out gentle, almost believable. Brock’s hand pressed against the small of Bucky’s back, right where he’d have been carrying a gun, if he’d been smart.

Bucky hid the phone in his jacket and got back to walking. “Go away, Brock,” he said, though without any force behind it. Steve had changed his mind, and the decision had a permanent feel to it. _We need to talk tomorrow_. God, he was tempted to text back and tell Steve not to bother. Bucky wasn’t sixteen anymore, given to believing in false hope.

He threw a glance at Brock, who’d backed off but was still walking next to him. And some part of Bucky appreciated having _someone_ there. Hell, that self-destructive corner of his mind whispered that there was nothing stopping him from taking Brock home for a couple of hours. It wasn’t like Steve would care, and there was no one else lined up. And even if Bucky didn’t _like_ Brock, he was familiar.

But he hadn’t been drinking quite enough to go from thinking about it to acting on it. “Maybe tomorrow,” he finally said, looking around for a cab. He didn’t even know which way he’d gone out of the restaurant, but there were cabs everywhere.

Brock’s grin was pleased. “I’ll call you?”

Bucky exhaled. It was too late to back out, now that he’d said it. “Yeah. Okay.” He shot Brock another look, adding, “Go back to my uncle. I’m gonna get a cab.”

As Bucky went to walk away, Brock caught his arm. Bucky tensed and tried to pull free. When he couldn’t break Brock’s grip, he nearly decked the bastard, but Brock’s grin stopped him.

“There it is,” Brock said with a satisfied little growl. “I missed that fire.”

Bucky clenched his teeth, torn between wanting to punch that smirk off his face or kiss him into breathless silence. He settled for wrenching his arm free and walking off. And though Brock didn’t follow him this time, Bucky couldn’t help but feel like he’d lost that round.

 

~~~

 

Bucky didn’t respond to Steve’s text. Not that night and not all through the next morning.

Thinking maybe his phone was broken, Steve powered it down, then back up. When he checked his texts, Aunt Vera’s was there, as was his sent text, but there was still no response. He even went so far as to ask Sam and Darcy to text him to make sure incoming texts were working. Theirs showed up fine. But still, nothing from Bucky.

Steve was sitting at his desk eating a sandwich from across the street (where Bucky wasn’t) staring at his phone (where Bucky hadn’t replied) trying to think up how to word a second text that didn’t sound too desperate or too worried. When the front door opened, Darcy made a tiny squealing noise, though she didn’t greet the newcomer.

Confused by what could have happened and glad for the distraction, Steve got up and walked out to see Clint standing there with an amused smile as Darcy desperately tried to finish the very large bite of salad she had apparently shoved into her mouth just as he’d entered.

“Hey, Clint. How’s Rover?”

“Champion at catching frisbees with his face, though not so good at getting them in his mouth,” Clint said, grinning as he shook Steve’s hand. “You all set? Figured I’d help you carry anything, if you’ve got lights and stuff.”

Steve frowned in confusion for a split second before he remembered making the appointment for a photoshoot with the dogs. All of the drama with Bucky had completely wiped that important detail from his memory.

_Shit._

“Ah, I left the equipment at my house. Do you have a van we could drive over? It’s less than a mile away.”

“I never bothered — city living and all — but lemme get Bucky. He’s got a Range Rover.”

_Bucky_ and _Range Rover_ hit Steve all at once. Not too long ago, he’d wondered what kind of asshole drove a Range Rover in Brooklyn. Apparently, the answer was Bucky.

Clint left before Steve could figure out a response. And then he panicked at the thought of being stuck in the car with Bucky, because there wouldn’t be time to ask about Pierce and deal with whatever fallout happened. Steve would just have to stay professional —

“If this is the charity calendar thing, are you gonna have the guys strip? Because I did theater in undergrad, and I can totally do the lights for you,” Darcy interrupted.

“I’m taking pictures of _dogs,_ Darcy. Hold down the fort while I’m gone. Might be a couple hours.”

Steve moved toward the door, then changed direction and went back to his office to grab his jacket and keys. Then he almost went to tell Sam where he was going, but he decided against it — he didn’t want to see the look he’d get from Sam. When he went back out front, he realized he’d only gotten through half his sandwich and hurried back to wrap it up and put it in the shared office fridge, where he grabbed a bottle of water.

And stopped still, realizing he was running around in a panic. He made himself drink half of the water, then took a deep breath.

_Shit._

Then he walked out the door into the sunshine to figure out how to smile politely at someone he alternately wanted to shout at and bare his throat to.

When Steve crossed the street to Howling Commandos, he saw the black Range Rover parked a couple of doors down, just out of sight of the VA’s front windows. The old church doors opened, and his heart skipped, but it wasn’t Bucky who came out. Instead, Clint grinned at Steve and held up a set of keys on one finger.

“I should warn you, the last time I drove, it was an eight-wheeled Stryker AFV,” Clint said as he put on a pair of sunglasses.

The little air left in Steve’s lungs came out as an amused huff as he followed Clint to the oversized vehicle. “Well, this monster is probably as close as you can get on civvy streets.”

Clint tipped his head down to give Steve an innocent look over his sunglasses. “Sorry, my Stryker was on Interstate 40 outside Flagstaff, Arizona.”

Steve laughed, reminding himself he knew nothing about either Clint’s or Bucky’s service history. Hell, Bucky might not have trusted himself to drive anything smaller after he came home. “Are you going to run down any pedestrians? Should I drive?” he asked before thinking Bucky might not want him to drive his car.

Clint beamed at him. “Only the guilty ones. You get shotgun.”

 

~~~

 

_Shit, shit, shit_ , was all Bucky could think as he lurked in a back office with Winter. How the _fuck_ had he let himself forget about the photoshoot? Hell, he hadn’t even remembered this morning, when his phone had given him a calendar alert, reminding him to be at Howling Commandos by noon.

And he couldn’t leave. Not with a dozen veteran adopters and their dogs out in the waiting room, turning the place into a riot of happy barking and nervous tension. Bucky wasn’t an official trainer, but he had a way with dogs — the ability to keep them calm and under control even in a crisis — that meant he might get called in to help keep them still for the camera.

Steve’s camera.

_Fuck._

But Bucky wasn’t needed _right then,_ so he lurked in the office, door closed, and brushed the hell out of Winter’s coat until it practically glowed. Winter lolled bonelessly on the floor in canine ecstasy, tongue hanging out his open mouth, barely able to summon up the energy to wag his tail. At least someone was having fun.

The door opened without a warning knock, making Bucky jump. Winter surged to his feet and got in front of Bucky, momentarily blocking his view. Bucky sat up to see Clint blinking down in confusion, as if wondering why Bucky was on the floor.

“Need you out here, Sergeant Puppy Wrangler,” Clint said. “We can’t keep them still.”

“They’re puppies. Puppies _never_ stay still,” Bucky protested, telling himself to move, to stand up, to get to his feet and do his fucking job, though his body wasn’t working right. Instead, he ran his fingers through Winter’s silky fur and silently hoped Clint would _go away_.

But Clint just grinned, saying, “Yeah, we’ve got them in the portable pen, but you need to get them to do something cute. Otherwise, it looks like a really weird POW photo.”

“Shit. Asshole,” Bucky muttered, thinking Clint was perfectly capable of finding puppy-proof stuffed toys and treats safe for baby teeth. But he finally dragged himself upright and went to the supply closet, with Winter clinging to his left side, and he took down the puppy toy box, bracing himself to see Steve.

Not that it helped. Because if Steve was adorable in that awful checked shirt of his and gorgeous in that three-piece suit he’d worn just days ago, he was _irresistible_ when he was crouched on the floor, fingers stuck through the bars of the portable pen so puppies could nibble on them. His smile was soft and utterly enchanted, and he was talking quietly to the puppies. Bucky couldn’t hear him over the chaos, but he could see his lips shaping familiar words: _so cute, adorable, c’mere babies_.

Clearly, the universe hated Bucky.

Gritting his teeth, he walked out into the main room, weaving between wheelchairs and dogs of all shapes and sizes. He crouched down on the near side of the pen so he could start distributing toys, then glanced up at Steve, saying, “They won’t really sit still.”

Steve raised his eyes from the little chocolate pitbull licking his fingers raw and blinked. His smile was static but his eyes were mild, and he nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. We can get action shots of the little ones and portraits of the trained ones.” He stood up and watched Bucky play tug-of-war with a brown and white puppy for a few seconds. “Thanks, Buck.” And with that, he walked past Bucky to the corner where his camera gear was piled.

_Fuck._

Okay. They weren’t talking, except when necessary. Bucky could deal with that. This wasn’t more awkward than standing in front of top brass to get a mission brief from the officer he’d fucked just that morning behind an ammo dump. Hell, that distant “Buck” instead of “Bucky” made life a little easier.

_Professional,_ he told himself. He could do this.

 

~~~

 

Steve had done enough photoshoots and weddings to know that the best possible plan was to find moments of order in the chaos. Capturing the candid moments of interaction between the vets and their pets was just as important as getting them well-lit and looking at the camera for the portraits.

The shot list included joint portraits as well as solo shots, and that was where Bucky ended up being indispensable. He was something of a dog whisperer, with a natural way of talking to dogs and getting them to sit, stay, and even — Steve swore to God — to smile. Working so closely together simultaneously made some part of Steve glow and another part itch.

But thank God, it worked. And they were able to remain professional about it.

After the dog shots, Steve switched to portraits of the staff and veterans, and Bucky withdrew. At some point about three-fourths of the way through the shot list, he looked around to where Bucky had been sitting in the corner with Winter, watching the proceedings, and found the spot empty. He looked around quickly, scanning the couches, the desk, and down the office hallway, but caught no sign of either long brown hair or a mottled black, white, and gray dog.

_Shit._

He’d been hoping when everything died down they’d have a chance to talk. Also, he needed the car to get his equipment home.

_Double shit._

Maybe Bucky was out back? As the room cleared out, Steve went to help Clint, who was wrestling with one of the umbrella lights. “Do you know where Bucky went? I’ll need to get all this stuff home.”

“Oh. Yeah, he left me his keys,” Clint said, without a hint of his usual smile. “He left in a hurry about a half hour ago.”

Steve thought back over their interactions and couldn’t find anything particularly upsetting. Had he offended? Or was Bucky just trying to avoid him, generally? He still hadn’t answered the text, after all. Maybe he was reconsidering their date on Friday? Steve had sort of pushed that on him...

He stopped second-guessing everything while standing in front of Clint. “Hmm. I hope everything’s okay.”

“I think so.” Clint went to unplug the next light, then started neatly coiling the power cord. “He probably just wanted out. He’s not big on crowds, I think.”

“Sure. Okay.” Steve started disassembling the light and its stand, remembering how often he had seen Bucky’s hands in Winter’s fur, and how Winter had stuck close whenever Bucky wasn’t busy helping Steve with the other dogs. And then he wished he’d taken time to do their portrait. In all the chaos, he’d forgotten.

With Clint’s help, he got everything broken down pretty quickly. As they started loading the equipment in the Range Rover, Clint’s phone let out a sonar ping. He put down an armload of stands and checked the screen, and a mask dropped over his face, giving Steve a sudden, unexpected glimpse of the soldier he must have once been.

“Shit. I need to go. Sorry,” he said, throwing the keys at Steve.

“What should I do with the car when I’m through?”

“Ask Bucky. Sorry,” he said, moving to the other side of the Range Rover, so he could look down the street. “Just don’t kill anyone with it,” he said over the squeal of brakes, giving Steve a quick grin.

“Right,” Steve said blankly as a sleek Corvette came to a halt on the other side of the street. Clint darted out into traffic, narrowly avoiding being run over, and got into the passenger seat. Steve had a glimpse of a red-haired woman behind the wheel, but she floored the gas pedal before Clint could even close his door.

_Well, shit._

Steve sat on the back bumper and pulled out his phone, both glad for the excuse to contact Bucky and dreading doing so. He was attempting to draft a text when he saw Sam hurrying across the street. “Hey, buddy. What’s up?”

“Where’d she go? Is she parking?” Sam asked, breathing deep as he looked up and down the street.

“Who?”

“Shit. The redhead!” Self-consciously, Sam looked down at himself, then brushed at his shirt. “The one who Darcy swears isn’t Clint’s girlfriend, though that could be wishful thinking.”

“The one driving the Corvette like a maniac?” Sam nodded, getting a silly smile that made Steve grin in return. “She drove off with Clint. He got a text, she pulled up, he hopped in the car, and they were gone. It took about five seconds.”

“Shit.” Sam huffed, shoulders slumping. “Next time, you stop her. Throw yourself in front of the car if you have to. You’re a big guy. You can take a little bump.”

“Sam, I’m pretty sure there’s no stopping her.” He paused for a second, remembering a conversation about a badass woman at some point. “Did you ever catch her name?”

“If it’s not Artemis, it should be.” That smile returned. “Next time. Anyway, what’re you doing? Practicing stealing high-end cars?”

“It’s Bucky’s.” Steve shrugged when Sam gave him a look, then swept his eyes up and down the block. “He left. He was here helping with the dogs — he’s _really_ good with them — and then he was gone. I need to take my stuff home, but now that Clint left _I_ have to do something with the car.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “This some sort of trick? You weren’t exactly too thrilled with him after your date.”

“It would be an elaborate trick to get me alone, when I’m the one who asked to talk sometime today.” Steve scuffed his shoe on the pavement so he didn’t have to look at Sam’s face.

“Yeah, well, people can be awfully elaborate assholes. You need me to take care of this, maybe talk to him?”

“No. I have some things to say. And questions to ask, honestly. And he may be an asshole, but he’s a very simple, spontaneous asshole.” He stood up and clapped his housemate on the back. “Thanks, Sam. But I’ve got this.”

“You need me, you call,” Sam reminded him before going back across the street to the VA clinic.

Steve waved as Sam opened the door to go back inside, then looked back down at his phone.

_Shit._

Finally, he came up with a text that didn’t sound too bad: _Thanks for leaving your car, but Clint was kidnapped by a redhead in a Corvette, and I’m left holding your keys. How should I get them to you? Also, I still want to talk before our date on Friday._

Bucky’s first answer — _Fuck_ — came as Steve was headed back inside Howling Commandos to get his last batch of gear. He had everything stowed safely in the back of the Range Rover before Bucky’s second text buzzed through: _Just leave the keys somewhere. Whatever. Whenever. I’m already in Manhattan._

Well that was entirely unhelpful. Steve huffed out an exasperated breath. He drove home and got all his gear in his house before responding: _Bucky, I’m not going to drop them into the HC mailbox. Either I keep them at the VA and you can come pick them up whenever, or you have to come up with another option._

For lack of anything else to do, Steve got into the driver’s seat. And hell, if the leather passenger’s seat had been comfortable, the driver’s seat was a dream. He’d had to move it back — Clint was a few inches shorter than he was — and that led to experimenting with the rest of the seat controls, until his phone finally buzzed with Bucky’s answer.

_I’m at home._

Again, unhelpful. And at this point, Steve felt, incredibly dismissive. Which put his hackles up. This wasn’t a bad neighborhood, per se, but for Bucky to not care about what happened to his new, expensive, absolute fortress of a car was just irresponsible. Was he so rich that he didn’t care if it got ripped off? Or did he have a deal with one of Pierce’s cronies if he needed a replacement?

Not to mention the fact that Bucky was making this Steve’s problem to deal with. The next text was as dismissive as Steve could muster: _Fine. I’ll leave it on the street out front, and you can pick up the keys from me tomorrow._

It took almost five minutes for Bucky to answer with one word: _Okay._

Steve threw his phone onto the passenger seat.

_Shit._


	9. Chapter 9

Winter let out a distressed whine but didn’t break from his down-stay at the edge of the living room throw rug. He just watched Bucky pace from the picture windows to the kitchen island and back.

Even the _dog_ was giving him a fucking guilt-trip.

Bucky had slept maybe two hours through the night, only because he’d broken into the stash of tranquilizers he refused to let himself take more than once every couple of months. He hated the numb chemical distance they imposed on his brain, but he’d needed rest.

Every time he walked past the couch, he could just see his disassembled, possibly broken phone on the coffee table. He didn’t remember cracking the back plate to get the battery out, just like he didn’t remember setting the building intercom to _do not disturb_.

The message light blinking on the intercom was probably because of Brock. One more pressure point that Bucky absolutely did not fucking need triggered.

This wasn’t supposed to have happened. Clint should’ve kept the damned keys. Then Bucky could go back to the center to pick them up, and Steve would never have to see him again. Only now Steve _wanted_ to see him — probably to yell about whatever couldn’t have waited until Friday night — and he had Bucky’s truck as a hostage. Not that Bucky gave a damn about the truck.

And now he was stuck. No, not _stuck_. He’d showered and dressed, and if he hadn’t shaved out of fear of cutting himself, no big deal. He looked good scruffy. All he had to do was clip on Winter’s leash, head downstairs, have the concierge get him a car, and go pick up his keys at the VA.

Where Steve was.

That meant having _the talk_ with Steve — and probably the bonus of awkward questions about why Bucky had run out on him yesterday and why he hadn’t come get the car keys last night.

_Fuck_.

He finally made himself get the leash off the breakfast bar. A twitch of his hand, and Winter broke from his down-stay to run over to Bucky. He jumped up, put his paws on Bucky’s chest, and licked at his face until Bucky gave in and hugged him. Bucky let out a breath and went down to one knee with Winter, burying his face against Winter’s fur.

“It’s okay, baby,” he muttered against the dog. “Want to go for a car ride?”

Winter tried to climb into his lap and lick his ear, which ended up with Bucky shoved back onto the floor, inhaling dog fur. More of the tension in Bucky’s chest cracked and faded, and he managed an almost-genuine smile. He gave Winter a shove and got a doggie-grin in return, and an excited tail-wag when he clipped the leash to Winter’s collar.

Winter got out of his way long enough for him to stand up. Then the dog leaned against Bucky’s left leg while Bucky pulled on his light jacket, checked for his wallet, and slapped a hand over the empty pocket where he’d usually put his phone. He looked back at the coffee table, thinking he should probably try to put the phone back together or take it to the store for repairs. Then he decided he’d do that later or tomorrow or something. The only people who’d call were his relatives and Brock, and he didn’t want to talk to any of them.

 

~~~

 

It was almost noon when Steve finally saw a black Town Car pull up outside Howling Commandos, followed by a glimpse of the back of Bucky’s head. When the car pulled away, Steve saw Winter sticking close to Bucky’s left side as Bucky looked around, shoulders stiff with tension. He started to turn, probably to cross the street, but then he froze, staring in the direction of the coffee shop.

Seconds later, the coffee shop door opened, and a man walked out. He was casually dressed in a dark navy polo shirt and black chinos. He grinned at Bucky and crossed the patio to walk out the gate.

Maybe he was happy to see Bucky, but Steve could tell Bucky didn’t return the feeling.

Smoothly, Winter slid ahead and positioned himself diagonally in front of Bucky, keeping the other man at arm’s length. The man didn’t seem surprised or even intimidated; he gave Winter a quick glance, then smiled at Bucky again, speaking to him. Bucky’s answer was something quick and sharp, but instead of walking away, he stayed where he was. There was something resigned about his posture.

When the other man reached past Winter to touch Bucky’s arm, Bucky shifted away, but he still didn’t leave. He just pushed his hair back with his right hand — the left was still stuck in his jacket pocket — and shrugged, looking down at Winter.

Apparently not one to take a hint, the other man touched Bucky’s arm again. This time, Bucky let it happen, though he didn’t push into the touch or take the other man’s hand.

And Winter was still firmly between them.

Steve got up out of his seat and was out of his office before he had quite thought about the fact that Bucky might not be glad to see him. He crossed the foyer and threw open the clinic door. At the next lull in traffic, he called out, just loud enough to carry over the street, “Bucky?”

They both looked over, and Steve felt a chill he hadn’t experienced since his time in the desert. Whoever that other man was, he’d killed before — and not as a soldier. Steve knew it in his bones.

Bucky threw the killer a look and said something briefly. Then he turned, back still set with tension, and jogged to the edge of the row of parked cars. The killer let Bucky go, and his eyes settled on Steve, as if he were memorizing Steve’s face. There was nothing friendly in his neutral, blank expression.

As soon as there was another break in traffic, Bucky and Winter ran across the street.

Steve had the door to the VA open before they hit the sidewalk and held his other arm out protectively to usher them in. Over the sound of traffic, he barely heard Bucky say, “My six.” Steve looked across and saw that the other man was still watching them, and he noted that Winter hung back, letting Bucky enter the office first. Steve followed close behind the dog, and when he closed the door, he didn’t lock it only because he knew Sam still had a client.

As soon as Bucky stopped in the foyer, Winter sat down beside him, leaning against his left leg, rather than pushing protectively ahead. Bucky looked in Steve’s direction, still wearing his sunglasses, and said, “Sorry I didn’t call first. Phone trouble.”

Steve could feel the tension in Bucky from a distance of three feet. He pointed to his office without looking away from Bucky’s face and spoke softly. “It’s fine. Right over here.” As Bucky headed to the door, Steve called over his shoulder, “Darcy, I’m not available until further notice.”

Thank God Darcy had been working at the VA for the last couple of years she’d been in grad school. One look at Bucky was all it took for her to quash her usual teasing, and instead she gave them both the reserved, professional smile that only their clients ever saw. “You got it, boss,” she said, stabbing at the buttons on her desk phone with her pen.

Instead of relaxing, Bucky tensed up even more as he walked into Steve’s office like a man going to his own execution. He stopped just inside the door, one step to the side, and he took his left hand out of his pocket to rest his fingertips on Winter’s head, between his ears.

Steve took a breath and assessed the situation. Bucky had just met with a threat on the street, but now that he was away from it, he was still on edge. He was grounding himself with Winter, who was staying protectively close.

Last week, Steve had decided Winter wasn’t a therapy dog after all, but maybe his first impression really had been correct. For all that Bucky had been comfortable at the coffee shop and at Howling Commandos — and _very_ comfortable on their date, even without the dog at his side — there was no doubt that Winter was providing support and comfort now.

_Something_ had triggered Bucky. And Steve would’ve blamed it solely on the killer across the street, but Bucky had been tense _before_ he’d looked towards the coffee shop.

Bucky had an eye to the door and flinched when Steve moved to close it, so he left it half-open, and Bucky took a deep breath. He was checking exits. Hanging back from the window as if aware of sight-lines to the coffee shop, where the killer remained — at an outside table, so he could keep watch on the VA clinic’s door.

Steve had seen this level of anxiety before. First priority, help Bucky feel safe.

Steve pulled the visitor’s chair all the way to the wall just past the window’s edge, then he backed off and sat on the corner of his desk. “Do you need to call someone? You can stay here as long as you need to.”

Bucky sat down on the edge of the chair and frowned up at Steve. “It’s fine. I’ll have a new phone by tomorrow, I guess. I just — My keys?”

“Of course.” Steve picked them up off his desk and leaned forward to hand them over. “If you aren’t ready to drive yet…”

Bucky took the keys with his right hand. “I’m fine,” he said, standing back up. He turned the keys in his hand, adding, “I’ll cancel the reservation Friday. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Steve wished he could see Bucky’s eyes, because nothing about his responses was making sense. “Bucky.” He risked standing up, which put him a foot closer. Bucky didn’t flinch or back away, which was at least something. “Is that what you want to do?”

Bucky’s exhale was sharp. Frustrated. “It was one night. It’s not like we’re married or something.”

That response hit Steve in the gut. It also felt completely unfair. Was Bucky feeling like Steve was mothering him too much? “I never—” He took a deep breath. “I just—” He stepped away from Bucky to the window to see if the threat was still active. It was. The killer was looking down at his phone, but he kept glancing at the clinic door. “Who the hell is that guy, anyway?”

“Brock.” Another huff of breath. “He’s an asshole.”

“He’s more than that.” Steve turned to lean his shoulder on the wall by the window trying not to look like he was monitoring Bucky’s responses too closely. “Did he threaten you?”

_“What?”_ Even through the sunglasses, Steve could feel Bucky’s incredulous stare. “He’s PSB. Army Protective Services Bureau? He’s a fucking bodyguard.”

Steve’s level of worry about Bucky spiked up another notch. His mind raced, trying to slot together Bucky’s unknown military service, the wound that had ended with him apparently being given an advanced cybernetic arm instead of a regular prosthetic, and now _this_. All Steve knew about Protective Services was that they were part of the Army’s Criminal Investigation Command. Was Bucky in witness protection? And what did this have to do with the Secretary of Defense?

“That menace is your _bodyguard?_ ”

“Oh, _fuck_ no,” Bucky said, confusing the issue even more. “He’s — I guess he’s sort of my ex or something.”

Steve’s mouth dropped open. Everything he’d seen about their interaction looked coercive and, well, _wrong,_ in the context of them being lovers. Especially Bucky’s resignation to the contact and his insistence that everything was okay.

“Buck…” Before he could stop himself, he had stepped towards Bucky, into his personal space, and reached to touch him. Instead of pulling back, instead of commanding Winter to get between them, Bucky stayed perfectly still for the seconds it took for Steve to move.

But then Steve remembered how this Brock had done the same thing a few minutes before, and he dropped his hands and inched back slightly. Bucky looked down at Winter, saying, “I should go, get him home.”

_Shit._

That was the same body language as before. What on earth had happened to him? And who was pulling the strings? Was it Pierce?

He stepped back. Bucky had expressed the desire to leave, so Steve wasn’t going to keep him.

“Okay. I’ll see you on Friday.” He spoke before he remembered Bucky had cancelled the date. “Or, not. Whatever you like.”

With a sharp, angry huff, Bucky snapped, “Forget it. I don’t need a pity fuck from you, too. Winter, point.” The dog nosed open the office door and went out into the foyer, with Bucky following close behind. A second later, the front door to the clinic opened, then slammed shut.

Steve sat down in Bucky’s chair and leaned his head back against the wall, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

Maybe five minutes passed, if that, before a gentle tap swung the door open the rest of the way. Darcy looked in, holding out one of the mugs from the break room. The steaming contents smelled of flowers. “I don’t have any Valium, so chamomile tea will have to do,” she said.

Steve smiled at the offering. And the company. His head was not a place he wanted to be in right then. “Thanks. Come in.”

As soon as Steve took the mug, Darcy kicked the door shut and hopped up onto his desk to sit cross-legged. “So, that was pretty spectacular,” she said in a gentle tone. “Who was he?”

Had they really been that dramatic? Steve had no gauge in the moment, and when he thought back over what had started out as damage control and ended up an argument, nothing made sense. “That” — he took a sip of tea; the heat made him wince, which was welcome — “was Sergeant Bucky Barnes. My date last Friday night, and no longer my date this Friday.”

“Too bad. He’s a real hottie. The dog’s cute, too.”

Steve nodded in agreement and sipped his tea again.

“So, why’d you two break it off?”

“I have absolutely no idea. He sent me some shirts, because mine got ruined on Friday.” Her eyebrows shot up, and he tried not to blush.

“Good for you!” Darcy said, uncrossing one leg so she could kick at his knee. “Wait — is this Mr. Saks Fifth Avenue?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so, what went wrong? Because seriously, unless he’s... I dunno, possessed or something, you don’t kick _that_ out.”

“I didn’t. I called to thank him, and we set up another date.” The intense heat of the mug in his hands helped him to focus. “Only I found out... something disturbing, and I wanted to talk with him about it, so I texted him. And didn’t hear back.”

“Didn’t he say something about phone trouble? Not that I was eavesdropping or anything, but dude, you were standing right there, and then you left your door open. Subconscious need for my advice, I figure.”

“We’ve texted a bunch between then and now. The trouble must have happened last night. _After_ we spent the afternoon in the same place without talking — barely looking at each other.” Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Was all this frustration really worth it? Friday night had been great, to a point, but really.

He looked up when he heard a clicking sound. Darcy had picked up one of his pens and was flicking her nail against the plastic clip near the end. She was staring at the wall over Steve’s head, eyes narrowed.

“So...” she said slowly, “you find out ‘something disturbing,’ tell him you’ve gotta talk, and then _don’t_ talk, but you text? What’d you text about, if not the ‘talk’ you wanted?”

Steve sighed and shook his head. “His damned _car._ I needed it to move my equipment for the photoshoot, but he left first, and then we texted about getting the keys back to him. That’s why he came today.”

“And the ‘talk’?” she pressed. “Or was it about this ex of his?”

“God, not initially, but that was _also_ disturbing. The ‘talk’ wasn’t a _talk_ —” He cut off, refusing to get into the details of his sex life with his intern, no matter how smart and perceptive she was. “I just told him we needed to talk before our date. That’s all.”

Darcy blinked. “Oh. _Steve,_ ” she said on a sigh. “Seriously?”

Steve’s eyebrows raised at her tone of voice. “What?”

She shifted her crossed legs so she could rest her elbows on her knees and look him right in the eye. “You said something like ‘we need to talk.’ Right?” When Steve nodded, she shook her head. “Dude, that’s the _kiss of death_ for a relationship. That’s code for breaking up, never want to see you again, you’re an asshole, jump off a bridge...”

“What? No, I...”

_Shit._

Was that why Bucky hadn’t responded to his text, hadn’t looked at him at the photoshoot, had left early, and been dismissive about the car when he’d texted? Because he thought Steve was done? Was that why no one seemed sure whether the date on Friday was happening or not?

“Okay, look,” Darcy said, interrupting Steve’s thoughts. “You and me? We’re a thing. So one day, I send you a text — no warning, no explanation: _We need to talk_. Seriously, what’s your first thought? Other than ‘She’s pregnant’, because let’s just take that right out of the equation. But it’s _something bad_ , right?”

Steve frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe not _bad_ but serious.”

“Exactly.” She sat back up. “So, you jump ahead — get past the whole ‘talk’ part, right to the conclusion, because no one _likes_ the serious-maybe-bad parts. Boom. You’re broken up. Get a jump start on the angsting afterwards, and you can move on to the rest of your life.”

“You’re saying that because I sent him a text about talking, he was already done trying to date me by yesterday afternoon?”

She gave him a faint, sad smile. “Dude, that hottie that walked in here? He wouldn’t stand up to Maggie if she barked at him, much less _you_ being maybe-angry at him. That was one seriously kicked puppy.”

_Shit._

‘Kicked puppy’ meant abused — which was a conclusion Steve didn’t want to consider. But after seeing the absolute threat that Brock conveyed, and the way Bucky responded to it, as if used to it, he had to admit the signs were there. And then there was the fact that Winter was trained for protection and for helping Bucky deal with hyper-awareness. The dog was always on Bucky’s left side — which, by Bucky’s own admission, was his strong side, not the weak one. And Bucky had used military language like ‘my six’ for Winter’s training. That all pointed to PTSD, most likely from combat. And if he’d been dealing with his abusive ex just showing up at the places he hung out, well, Jesus. No wonder the idea of a ‘talk’ had him running scared.

Steve wondered if the best thing he could do for Bucky was to not bother him anymore and just leave him alone.

And then he remembered how many vets he’d talked to about how alone they felt.

In fact, odds were high that if Bucky had been in an abusive relationship and still didn’t realize it, then he’d been isolated. It was possible that aside from Clint and Steve, Bucky didn’t really have a support network. Money could be insulating if you let it. And given the way Bucky only thought of material aftercare on Friday night, it was highly possible he’d fallen into that trap.

_Shit._

All of this required a _lot_ more thought.


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky drummed his fingers on the display case and tried to look casual, but the open plan store wasn’t exactly designed for security. Instead of a counter off to one side, there were little round kiosks everywhere, meaning people were walking all around him. And because Winter was a pet, not a service dog, he didn’t have the registration that would get him into any commercial establishment.

“And... done,” the clerk finally said, giving Bucky a cheerful smile. “Looks like you’ve already got some calls waiting.”

“Thanks.” Bucky all but snatched the phone away and shoved it in his pocket. “Anything else?”

“Nope. You’re all set. It’s covered by your protection plan.”

With a quick nod, Bucky got the hell out of the store and onto the sidewalk. He should’ve driven, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to drive in Manhattan — he only bothered when his destination was somewhere off the island. Instead, he got the first available cab, gave his home address, and then settled down to go through his messages.

They were split pretty evenly between Brock and Uncle Alex, with a couple from a Maryland number that Bucky promptly put on the block list. He could deal with his uncle, but his sisters were right out of the question. The idea of being set up with a drunk, horny bridesmaid in pink taffeta turned Bucky’s stomach on the best of days.

And then, he came to a text from a familiar number, even though there was no name attached. He hadn’t bothered putting Steve into his address book. He almost deleted it without reading it, but curiosity got the best of him.

_Sorry about what happened this week. I think we crossed wires somewhere. Can we start over? If not Friday, some other time? Whatever you want..._

Bucky stared at the text, wondering what the hell was going on. Steve didn’t _really_ want to start over, did he? Why would he? And what crossed wires?

He almost thought this maybe had something to do with Brock, but... what? Brock was a half-tame attack dog, but Uncle Alex would never sic Brock on Steve, would he? Not with Steve working at the VA. That would be the sort of political nightmare Uncle Alex always managed to avoid.

Hesitantly, telling himself not to be nervous, he answered: _Just got my phone back. Tonight’s reservation is already cancelled. What are you thinking?_

The text came when he was halfway home: _Someplace quiet? I hate having to yell to hear each other._

Bucky exhaled, thinking only in terms of places he could bring Winter. Finally, he answered: _DBA on 1st Ave. There’s patio seating._

_Can’t get there before 7pm. That okay?_

Tonight. Bucky hadn’t specified, but... _Yeah. Don’t drive. Parking sucks. See you then._

_Sounds good. See you soon._

Bucky shoved the phone back in his pocket and looked out the window, wondering what he was getting into. More to the point, why was Steve even interested?

Fuck, he hated trying to figure this shit out. At least Winter made sense. Then again, he’d have Winter with him tonight, so if things got weird, he wouldn’t be alone. And it wasn’t even two yet, so he had plenty of time to shower and relax and change his mind.

 

~~~

 

Steve stood on the subway platform, waiting to transfer from the A to the F train, wondering if he was a bigger masochist than he’d thought. This whole situation was FUBAR, at least from where it had started a week ago. And sure, it had been a while since he’d gone so deep into subspace, but that was a poor reason to pursue things when they’d ended up going so badly. Communication was key to any D/s dynamic, and clearly he and Bucky had some massive issues with that. It all came from not negotiating terms, though. Making sure you were speaking the same language. Being aware of boundaries and limits, both inside and outside of the bedroom.

But for some reason, whether it was not wanting to leave a baby dom uneducated, or not wanting to leave a vet in an unsafe situation, Steve felt the need to help.

And it wasn’t just about his savior complex or anything, because there was something really compelling about Bucky that clearly Steve couldn’t get out of his system. It wasn’t just the slow eyes and quick mouth; there was a way about him that pulled at Steve. A quiet strength that he hid, like his arm, only letting it come out around dogs and lovers.

He walked the two blocks from the train to the bar feeling more sure of himself, but less certain of what he was going to say to Bucky. He’d tried all afternoon to keep from planning out a speech or something ridiculous, but now he felt woefully unprepared for an expectant date who might have only agreed to this meeting out of curiosity.

_Shit._

The bar was nothing like the elegant restaurant at the Quin. This was a dive, small and cramped, set in the middle of the block between a deli and a barber shop. Baffled at why Bucky would have picked _this_ place, Steve walked in and immediately figured it out. There were three tables where people had dogs underfoot.

That meant he’d brought Winter. Good. He’d hopefully feel more relaxed, having his dog with him.

He found Bucky out back, at the patio seating he’d mentioned in his text. He was in tight jeans, ripped at the knees, and an equally tight T-shirt, though his arm was hidden under a long-sleeved brown leather jacket. He had his back to a high, vine-covered stone wall, and Winter was seated to his left, ears perked. From the distance of fifteen feet, Bucky was the picture of cool — unassuming confidence laced with boredom — and a part of Steve wondered what the hell Bucky was doing wasting his time on _him._

As Steve approached the table, Bucky stood up. He’d left off his sunglasses, and Steve saw his eyes were shadowed, with dark, sleepless circles underneath. He looked half-dead on his feet, and even his friendly smile did nothing to bring life back to his eyes.

Steve smiled and held out his hand to shake, then sat opposite Bucky. Facing the wall was better than flanking him. “Hey. It’s good to see you.”

Bucky settled back down, saying, “Winter, say hi.” The dog nosed at Steve’s leg and inched forward to get his head under Steve’s hand. “He likes it here. There are a couple of cats around that make things exciting.”

Steve scratched Winter’s ears and watched Bucky watch his dog’s response. Steve had been keeping his nerves at bay by working on revamping the Howling Commandos brochures, adding new color pictures and reformatting the text, which meant he’d been learning about service animals. And though Winter lacked the harness or vest that declared him to be a service dog, that was exactly how Bucky was using him: to fill in what could have been an awkward gap in the conversation and to help ease any hint of tension between them. Winter was a safe place for Bucky to rest his hands and eyes if he didn’t feel comfortable interacting directly with another person.

It was such a contrast to how he’d been just a week ago. He’d captured Steve’s eyes and held his gaze long enough that Steve had been the one looking down, deferring to Bucky’s strength and dominance. Steve knew that there was a core of steel inside Bucky, but what surrounded it was as brittle as glass.

And that fragility hadn’t come from his time in the army or even the wound which had taken his shoulder and arm. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so relaxed with his cybernetic prosthesis. He wouldn’t have _enjoyed_ using that hand on Steve nearly as much. No, this was all emotional, not combat-related.

_Brock,_ Steve thought, with a flood of indignation. The next moment, however, he had to admit to himself that _he_ hadn’t helped the situation either. Which made him want to apologize.

“Thanks for seeing me again, Bucky. I’m sorry I made things awkward this week. I’ve been looking forward to having time for us to talk some more.”

“It’s no problem,” Bucky dismissed, glancing at Steve. When he wasn’t looking at Winter, he was scanning the area. For a server or threats? Steve wasn’t sure which. Bucky looked back at him for a second, adding, “Sorry about the car thing.”

“That wasn’t your fault. I appreciated you letting me use it, and I’m sorry if it seemed I was holding your keys hostage.” Steve smiled, but Bucky seemed somewhat baffled at the idea. “I mean, I could have offered to drive your car to you or something. I didn’t need to make you come all the way out to Brooklyn...”

Frowning now, Bucky said, “It’s my car. Not your job to drive it into the city. Nobody likes driving in the city.”

“True. Traffic is always horrible.” Steve smiled again. “Speaking of, when you left yesterday, did that asshole follow you?”

Bucky’s huff was irritated but not angry. He slouched back in his seat, and he would’ve looked casual if not for how he deliberately pressed his leg against Winter. “I can handle Brock. And he’s not stupid enough to push anything with me.”

Steve kept his voice gentle. “I didn’t say you couldn’t. But FYI, he creeped me right out. I’m sorry you still have to deal with him.”

“Been dealing with him since I got out of the desert,” Bucky said with a shrug. “If he gives you any shit, let me know. I’ve been looking for an excuse to put an end to him.”

Steve was pretty sure, by the preoccupied way Bucky was playing with the laminated menu, that he wasn’t quite listening to himself. “I hope you aren’t offering to put a hit out on your ex for me, Bucky.” Steve leaned down to catch his wandering eye for a moment and grinned.

Bucky smirked. “I was a —” slipped out before he seemed to catch himself. Then he gave a tight laugh and looked back down, eyes going right to Winter. “No. I just know his CO.”

“Pierce?” It was out before Steve had realized that was where he was headed with this, or had assessed whether Bucky would be willing to talk about it. He still had no idea what influences were at play there.

Bucky’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed. “Did _he_ come after you?” he asked, voice going low and quiet.

The barely contained menace threw Steve off guard. “No! The opposite, oddly. My aunt...” He was really going there, wasn’t he? “She’s a reporter who isn’t very fond of some of his practices. She got all upset a few nights ago that he was having dinner with a disabled vet. It seemed so hypocritical, given his policies.” Steve looked down at the table hoping all of this didn’t sound too creepy. “She sent me the Instagram picture.”

_“Instagram?”_ Bucky sat up, forgetting all about hiding his metal hand as he dug into his jacket pocket. Winter pushed up from where he’d been laying down, and he whined at Bucky in alarm. Scowling, Bucky stabbed at his phone, jaw clenched.

Steve, startled by Bucky’s transformation, leaned back and hoped if they were going to have a blow-up, it would be quick and bloodless. “Look, I’m really sorry, I —”

With another angry huff, Bucky interrupted, “Fucking goddamn photo ops. It was fucking _dinner_.”

Winter let out another whine, this one ending in a short, sharp bark. Bucky looked up, and his eyes tracked behind Steve, just as a waitress came up to the table.

“Whatever he’s having,” Bucky said, nodding at Steve before he went back to his phone. The waitress gave Steve an odd look as if asking if his date needed help or something.

Steve panicked when he saw the whiskey list alone, decided against wine given how informed Bucky had been at the Quin and not wanting to embarrass himself, and asked about beers on tap. The waitress listed off their seasonal offerings, and Steve picked an imported porter, hoping Bucky wasn’t a fan of hops. Before the waitress could confirm the order, Bucky shoved his chair back and stood.

“Winter, stay,” he said, giving Steve a quick, unreadable look before he put the phone to his ear and stormed away from the table. Winter sat down, staring towards Bucky.

Steve looked back and forth between the waitress and the dog, thanked the one and held his hand out to the other. “I dunno, pal. Think I’m in the doghouse tonight?” Bucky had told Steve to order drinks. He had left Winter with Steve. Whatever Bucky was doing on the phone, he planned on coming back to the table. He resigned himself to wait, hoping their interactions over the course of the evening got less inscrutable, not more.

 

~~~

 

Still fuming, Bucky walked back into the bar and pushed through the growing crowd. He’d dealt with the photos, but they never should have been a fucking problem in the first place. Damn Uncle Alex and his politics. If he was like this as Secretary of Defense, how much worse would he be when — not if — he ran for President?

On the way back to the patio, Bucky intercepted the waitress who’d come to their table. He gave her his credit card as he put his phone back in his jacket, absolutely certain for once that _someone_ would do as he’d said. As she turned to go to the register, Bucky went back to the table, where Winter had put his paws up on Steve’s lap and was ecstatically submitting to a good scratching.

“Sorry about that,” Bucky said, ruffling Winter’s ears as he sat. “The photos should be down in the next ten minutes. I know his press secretary.”

Steve looked nonplussed. “You don’t want them up? Why did you meet —” He stopped short and closed his mouth, then looked down at Winter, smoothing the ruffled fur on his neck.

“Shit. Winter, down,” Bucky said guiltily. Winter dropped to the ground, but the damage was done. Steve was almost as furry as the dog. “You wore the blue shirt.”

Steve looked at him with a sweet, apologetic smile. “Yeah. I told you I like blue.”

Some of the pent-up anger that had been simmering inside Bucky for a week started to die down. “It fits. Looks good,” he said, tempted to reach across the table and brush at the fur Winter had shed. He wasn’t sure he had that right. He wasn’t even entirely sure what they were doing here tonight.

“Yeah.” Steve’s cheeks had flushed slightly pink. “Thanks.” He looked down at his lap and tried to brush off some of the fur gathered there. “Bucky...”

That wasn’t a good tone of voice. Bucky glanced down at Winter, scrambling to think of a way to cut Steve off, but his mind had gone blank.

“Did you have fun last Friday night?” Steve glanced up for a moment, and the eye-contact hit Bucky in the gut, reminding him of just how _nice_ Steve was to look at, when things weren’t all tense and awkward.

“Of course I did,” he said thoughtlessly. Only then did he frown, asking, “Didn’t you? Shit, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Steve’s smile appeared for a second before he responded, “No. And Friday night was amazing. Saturday morning wasn’t.”

“Oh, shit. Did they fuck up the charges? Fuck, I’m sorry,” Bucky said, wondering how to fix this. Steve probably couldn’t afford ten minutes at the Quin — not on a VA salary — much less the bill they’d run up. Did he call his bank or just deal with the Quin directly?

Steve took a breath and let it out. “No, Buck. I meant when you left.” He looked down at the table, then back up at Bucky, his face calm. Waiting.

Relieved — at least a little bit — Bucky sat back in his chair, glancing around for their waitress. Service here was sometimes shit. “I tried not to wake you up. I’m sorry. I probably should’ve just left.”

Steve opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. It took him about five seconds and as many blinks to speak. “Bucky, please don’t take this the wrong way, but how much experience do you have doing what we did?”

Bucky stared at him, wondering why they were having this conversation here. _Now_. He nearly gave in to the stupidly defensive urge to snap at Steve before he remembered sitting at a coffee shop almost a week ago with plans to do research that he’d never done.

“Fuck,” he muttered, nudging at Winter with his foot. Loyally, Winter pushed up and leaned heavily against Bucky’s side, raising his head to pant at Bucky.

Steve sighed. “Okay, right.” He reached out and flattened his hand on the table, halfway between them. “There’s this part of the whole thing called aftercare. And it’s really important. Some time after — maybe Saturday morning, maybe at some point in the next couple of days — you probably felt like shit, right? Maybe uncertain about what we’d done?”

“I slept like shit, but I always do,” Bucky said, trying to remember. He wanted to reach out and take Steve’s hand, but he was too concerned that Steve would just pull away. Besides, the waitress would be back any minute with their drinks. So he shrugged and looked down at Winter, adding, “And Brock showed up again. Same shit as always. I figured that was it.”

“Oh, my Christ —” Steve actually looked angry. “If we ever do this again...” He slid his hand farther over to Bucky’s side of the table. Hesitantly, Bucky moved his right hand to touch his fingertips to Steve’s. “My one condition is that you absolutely do not see Brock at any point. Ever.”

Bucky nearly pulled his hand back. Of all the fucking conditions to put on whatever this was, Steve had to pick _Brock?_ “He’s my uncle’s fucking chief bodyguard.”

“He’s an abusive —” Steve cut off, eyes going wide. “Pierce is your _uncle?_ ”

“Yeah.” It came out almost inaudible. Bucky looked back down at Winter. “He took custody of me and my sisters after our parents died back in ’99.”

“Jesus, Buck...” Steve turned his hand over and offered it to Bucky. “I’m an idiot.”

Bucky looked up in surprise. He slid his fingers over Steve’s, wishing irrationally that he’d switched hands so he could feel Steve’s pulse. “What’d you do?”

Steve shifted in his chair and reached his other hand to cover Bucky’s. “Pulled an Aunt Vera and painted everything with the same wide, damning brush.”

“Who’s Aunt Vera?” Bucky asked, feeling suddenly like he was missing the other half of the conversation. Not that he’d been keeping up very well so far.

“The reporter I told you about who hates your uncle with a passion unknown to man.”

Bucky snorted. “Everyone hates my uncle. He’s a fucking politician.”

“Well, you clearly are not, and I’m sorry I misjudged you.” Steve gently tugged on Bucky’s hand in a way that made him think he would have brought it to his lips if the waitress hadn’t finally come with their drinks. Bucky had to let go to sign the check and put his card back in his wallet. He had no idea what Steve had ordered — not that he cared.

“Is there anything else that’s fucked-up between us?” he asked just a little desperately. He was too stressed and overwhelmed to play guessing games, and he suspected that pretending he knew what was going on would just lead to another disaster.

Steve took a sip of his beer, then held out his right hand for Bucky to grab with his left. “You need to learn about aftercare. And if given the chance I’m going to break Brock’s nose.”

Bucky spoke without thinking: “Anything less than a kill shot, and you’re dead, against him.”

“Then I’ll call in a favor.”

Bucky laughed at that, which got an adorable smirk from Steve. “For the last week, he’s been hanging around my place. If you wanted to” — he hesitated, wondering if he was moving too fast — “stop by.”

“What?” Steve asked incredulously. Cursing himself, Bucky would’ve pulled his hand back, but Steve clenched his hand hard around Bucky’s metal fingers, without fear of crushing them. “That’s unacceptable. Did you tell him to leave you alone?”

Bucky shrugged. “He’s not exactly good at taking ‘go the fuck away’ to heart.”

“Baby, no. That’s grounds for a restraining order.”

“He just wants me to take him to my sister’s wedding,” Bucky said, thinking that sounded better than ‘fuck up against a wall’ or something.

“Bucky, I’m serious.” He let his grip on Bucky’s hand loosen, but he didn’t let go. “I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, but whatever is going on there is not a healthy power dynamic.”

Bucky sighed, looking down at their joined hands, wondering suddenly what his life would’ve been like if he’d met Steve, not Brock, years ago. “He was there through the whole thing at the hospital. The surgeries and physical therapy, all the tests and calibrations and trials... My uncle had him stay with me the whole time. Fuck, it’s only because of my uncle that I even got into the program for this.”

Steve blinked at that information, but then spoke softly and surely. “And I’m sure you were grateful. But neither of them can trade on that anymore. And if you don’t want to see them, you _really_ don’t have to.”

Bucky’s hand tightened. He wanted to agree. Hell, what Steve was saying was nothing new. But he remembered Brock being the _only_ one who hadn’t left when the pain drove Bucky into a rage, made him lash out at everyone — the doctors, the physical therapists, even the other patients. And Uncle Alex had handled all of Bucky’s paperwork — had never turned away from Bucky, even when he’d left DC and changed his name because he _did_ want to get away.

Restlessly, needing to get up and move, he asked, “Do you want to get out of here?” He wasn’t even interested in staying to finish their drinks.

Steve looked thoughtfully at Bucky for a moment before a soft, easy smile spread across his face. He held out his hand to Bucky, who carefully wrapped his left hand around Steve’s fingers. The touch was more reassuring than Bucky might have expected.

Smiling even more at the contact, Steve said, “Sure. Yeah. Let’s go.”


	11. Chapter 11

They walked in silence, with Steve holding Bucky’s left hand and Winter walking to Bucky’s right. Steve wasn’t sure what information Bucky could gather from his palm with the sensors, but he knew it felt good to be trusted to interact with Bucky’s cybernetic arm, given the last time he’d done so Bucky had backed away. He couldn’t help but think it was a good sign that Bucky allowed someone other than Winter to be on his wounded side.

Steve also noticed the subtle commands Bucky gave. ‘Point’ sent Winter ahead a couple of steps, like any normal dog. ‘Corner’ told Winter to move ahead and turn before Bucky — and Steve noticed how Bucky watched Winter’s body language for cues. It took Steve a few blocks to realize that it felt so familiar because it was a standard pattern of movement for infantry, each soldier keeping guard on the others and watching the area around the squad.

They walked up 4th Avenue to Astor, and then Bucky nudged Steve into a geometric building of white marble, steel, and glass. The lower couple of floors were blocky and imposing, but the rest of the building rose in mirrored curves, with trees barely visible from balcony gardens.

If the Range Rover hadn’t clued Steve in, the building made Bucky’s wealth crystal clear.

Bucky barely glanced around, except in the same alert way he’d treated the rest of their walk. With another murmured, “Point,” he sent Winter through the door a couple of steps ahead. Then he held the door for Steve, who followed the dog into a spacious lobby with a polished stone floor and rich wood panels on the walls.

There was actually a front desk, as if this were a hotel, and the man there greeted Bucky and Steve with a friendly smile. “Good evening, Mr. Barnes. Good evening, sir.”

Bucky’s focus was on Winter until they came in sight of a couple of uncomfortable, expensive looking leather chairs around a glass table. Then Bucky relaxed and grinned over at the desk clerk. “Hey,” he said casually, and took Steve’s hand again, heading for a pair of elevators. One opened as they approached. As soon as they were inside, Bucky hit the button for the ninth floor. Then he leaned back against the elevator wall, saying, “I half expected him to be waiting for me again.”

“I won’t even go into how completely fucked up that is, Buck.” Steve leaned his shoulder against the wall next to Bucky, reveling in their proximity, and watched his face. He’d relaxed on the walk, but he still looked dead on his feet, as if the tension had been keeping him awake.

“He’s in DC for months at a shot,” Bucky said, as if that somehow excused Brock’s behavior. “My uncle was here to review contracts or something. They’ll go away eventually. For Rebecca’s wedding, if nothing else.”

“Won’t you see them there?” Steve wanted to touch his forehead, make the creases go away, but he settled for squeezing Bucky’s metal hand instead.

“Fuck, no.” Bucky pushed away from the wall as the elevator slowed. “I’m not spending two fucking weeks in the Caribbean so they can push drunk bridesmaids at me in hopes I’ll fall in love and breed the next fucking generation of Pierces. I changed my name to get away from that shit.”

Something clicked in Steve’s mind just as the elevator doors opened. He followed Bucky and Winter down the short hallway as he spoke. “You’re a Pierce? That means your dad and he...” They arrived at the door to Bucky’s place. “Bucky, that plaque at Howling Commandos... George and Winifred Pierce. They’re your parents?”

Bucky nodded, focused more on opening his door than on Steve. “Yeah. Security check,” he told Winter as he unclipped the leash. The dog ran into the apartment, but Bucky stayed in the hallway, still holding Steve’s hand. “We had dogs growing up. Hunting dogs, mostly. But they always liked animals.”

“And your uncle wrote a check to the clinic, but the large anonymous donation...” Steve looked at Bucky, who was tapping his keycard against his leg and not meeting his eye. “Was it you?”

Bucky’s shrug betrayed his discomfort. “Trust fund,” he muttered, looking into the apartment as Winter streaked by the front door at a comfortable lope. “Cleared when I was twenty-five, but I didn’t need it all. And the trainers were working out of their house, but there wasn’t that much room, with them having kids and all.”

“They helped you with Winter.” Steve felt sure of this fact. What else would make Bucky feel as though a tiny dog training outfit deserved his money, but the gift of his point man?

“He was my test, to see if I could actually train.” As Winter ran back to the door and dropped into a sit position, Bucky stepped inside, giving Steve’s hand a tug. The moment Steve cleared the threshold, Bucky closed the door. Three loud, mechanical _thunks_ warned Steve that the door locked automatically. “Go find your ball,” he said in a much more animated tone. Winter’s tail wagged hard, and the dog ran off, toenails clattering on the polished wood floor. Bucky threw his keycard on a narrow table by the wall, then gestured Steve down a wide hallway. “Make yourself at home.”

Steve walked through until he reached the main room, which curved around forever and was nothing but windows looking out over the night-bright Manhattan skyline. He was drawn to the glass wall like a moth to flame, and just barely kept himself from pressing his palms and nose against the glass. Only the truly rich owned the best views.

“Go to him,” Bucky said, and only a scrabbling of toenails warned Steve of Winter’s approach. The dog skidded to a halt and nudged at Steve’s hand with a damp tennis ball. From the open kitchen, Bucky asked, “You want something to drink? Or there might be food. We could order in, if you want.”

Being given choices for the evening made Steve realize he had no idea why he was there. “Bucky, what are we doing, exactly?”

Bucky looked across the apartment at Steve. Only the kitchen lights were on, throwing Bucky into sharp relief against the hazy, city-lit darkness of the rest of the space. Steve was starting to learn Bucky’s subtle expressions; he recognized the flash of panic mostly by the way Bucky’s gaze zeroed in on Winter.

“Right now, you’re ignoring someone who wants to play fetch,” Bucky said in a weak attempt at humor.

As he grabbed the tennis ball and tossed it away from the kitchen, Steve wondered if it was bad form to call attention to the fact that Bucky had changed the subject. He turned around and started walking toward the kitchen island, behind which Bucky was standing. “What I mean is, are we on a date?”

Bucky took a step back and leaned on the other counter. It looked casual, but Steve was aware of the added foot of distance between them. “Doesn’t have to be anything,” Bucky said with a tense shrug. “Do you want me to drive you back home?”

“Only if — or when — you want me to leave,” Steve said. Bucky relaxed, but only a little. Again, his eyes tracked to Winter, who returned to Steve’s side with the tennis ball ready for another throw. Bucky was still using the dog as a distraction. “Until then, food sounds great. And maybe some water.” Steve tossed the ball for Winter before rounding the island to stand near Bucky.

“Menus in the drawer there,” Bucky said, pointing to the end drawer on the island. He slipped to the side and went to the fridge. “If there’s something you want that’s not listed, I can have it delivered. And if Winter’s bugging you, just tell him to put the ball away.” He pulled a couple water bottles from the fridge, then took two glasses from a cupboard. He slid one of each over to Steve.

Steve opened the menus drawer, pulled out a thick stack, and dumped them on the countertop. There were quite a few Japanese restaurants and a smattering of other cuisines, mostly Asian, with lots of seafood. Steve saw a list of numbers of places that were too high-end to have delivery service and notes next to them with names and dishes. The Wayfarer was one of those places. Steve calculated that they were only a mile or two away from the hotel, which had him assuming ‘Chelsea’ — the name scrawled on the menu — was willing to drive an order over for an exorbitant tip.

As he sifted through the menus, he couldn’t help but be curious about why, if Bucky lived in such a fantastically beautiful space, he’d spent the energy and money to set their first date at a hotel. It clearly wasn’t to impress Steve, as this place would have done the same thing.

And then he remembered the ‘security check’. Bucky wasn’t in the habit of stepping inside his own apartment without having Winter make sure it was safe first. Bringing someone else in couldn’t be easy for him. Steve decided that most of Bucky’s dating probably happened in hotels.

So why was _he_ in Bucky’s home?

He fanned out five menus and held them out to Bucky, who was watching Winter nose under a chair for the tennis ball. “Which of these is the best?”

Looking a little more relaxed, Bucky walked over and shrugged. “They’re all pretty good. I mean, it’s New York, not Kabul. Even overpriced doesn’t last long here if it’s shit.”

Steve picked the Indian one, handed it to Bucky, and swept the rest into the drawer. “Order whatever you like for us from that one.” Then he turned away and walked over to Winter, crouching down to retrieve the ball and throw it.

Bucky got right on the phone, barely needing to even glance at the menu for the number. Steve listened to the change in his voice — calm and confident, no longer ending everything with a verbal question mark. A surreptitious glance showed Bucky wasn’t fixated on Winter, either, even though Winter made a couple of spectacular catches, once Steve got into the rhythm of their game.

“About forty minutes,” Bucky said as he dropped his phone on kitchen island. He walked over to where Steve was still crouched down, waiting for Winter to dig the ball out from under the sofa again. The dog was smart enough to use a paw, rather than trying to jam his whole head into the too-narrow space.

Steve looked up at Bucky, who met his eyes comfortably for what felt like the first time all night. Bucky was standing close enough to touch, inside Steve’s personal space, though he had his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. After only a second or two, Bucky looked away — at Winter — and asked, “You need help there, Winter?”

Steve feared for a second that Bucky was going to walk away again, using Winter as a shield, so he reached out and took hold of Bucky’s calf. He gripped firmly enough not to tickle, but not so hard that Bucky would feel trapped. He hoped. “Buck...”

Carefully, as if he barely dared to breathe, Bucky shifted his weight back, closer to Steve. “I don’t — Whatever you want, Steve,” he said uncertainly, looking back down into Steve’s eyes. This time, he didn’t turn away.

Steve smiled softly and squeezed Bucky’s leg gently. “Hey, that’s my line.”

That got him a smile in return. Bucky took his right hand out of his pocket and reached down slowly enough that Steve could pull away. As his fingertips touched Steve’s hair, Bucky said, “You really are too fucking gorgeous, you know.”

Steve pressed up into Bucky’s touch and closed his eyes in appreciation of it. “You’re only saying that because I’m on my knees.”

Bucky laughed quietly, moving his hand over Steve’s head, dragging his fingers through Steve’s hair. “We’ve got a little time before dinner’s here,” he said thoughtfully. Steve thought for a second that Bucky was going to suggest they start something sexual, but then he continued, “Maybe, you want to finish what you started to tell me earlier?”

Steve thought back over their conversation at the bar and realized how much talking he’d done. The sensation of Bucky’s fingers in his hair was taking enough of his concentration that he couldn’t remember where they’d left off when Bucky’d suggested leaving. “Which of the many things that I said do you mean?”

“About —” Bucky faltered, glancing over at Winter. The dog had turned upside-down, as if that would somehow help him free the tennis ball from the couch. “About this. What we did. I mean, it’s obvious you’ve got a hell of a lot more experience than I do,” he said, sounding embarrassed.

“With BDSM? Yeah. I’ve been around the block. Started subbing when I was fifteen.”

Bucky’s exhale was sharp and loud, even over the sound of Winter scrabbling at the floor. “Fuck. What the _hell_ are you doing with me, then?” he asked, shifting as if to pull away from Steve.

Steve pointedly didn’t let go of Bucky’s leg. “At the moment, I’m assessing how much education you need. This time last week, I was preparing to have the most satisfying sexual encounter I’ve had in a long time.”

“Was it? I mean —” Bucky shook his head and shrugged, breaking eye-contact again. “Even I eventually figured out that you were... fuck, so far out of my league...”

Turning fully towards Bucky so he was kneeling directly at Bucky’s feet, looking up into his face, Steve said, “Yes. It was. Which must mean your instincts are good. You checked in, you cared about my safety, you praised me — which is always going to be a good move. You pushed, but not too hard, which for a first encounter with a stranger I appreciated. I was a little surprised at how easy it was to fall into subspace with you.”

“To what?”

Steve looked up at Bucky’s confused frown. Forty minutes wasn’t going to be enough. “Right. Okay.” He stood up and took Bucky’s hand, leading him to the couch. “Head rub or foot rub?”

A little blankly, Bucky asked, “What?” again. He glanced down at his left hand, saying, “I can try, but sometimes I forget how strong it is.”

Steve tried to catch Bucky’s eye, but it was oddly difficult. “No, love. Receiving, not giving. Which would you like?”

Instead of answering right away — and Steve saw that he was tempted to refuse, by the way his mouth almost shaped a _no_ — Bucky hesitated. He took off the jacket he was still wearing and tossed it over the arm of the couch. His T-shirt looked as good as Steve suspected it would from the little glimpses he’d caught. The sleeve was just tight enough to show the grooves between each metal plate on Bucky’s left shoulder.

“Just... touch? Wherever?” he suggested, sitting down on the couch. “I don’t usually — I mean, outside of sex, nobody really gets that close to me, except Winter.”

_Shit._

Bucky was a wounded combat vet who’d been in an abusive relationship, who was almost certainly suffering from PTSD and had no one but his dog to ground him and keep him from being intensely touch-starved. Steve took a moment and thanked all the gods out there for Winter.

He sat down on Bucky’s right side, wanting to focus on skin contact. “Any places I should avoid?”

Bucky shook his head, turning a little bit to face Steve. “Anywhere you want,” he said, brushing the back of his hand against Steve’s jaw. “I don’t even usually do second dates. But I _really_ didn’t want to let you go, after last time.”

Steve turned his face to kiss Bucky’s knuckles. “Well, let’s see if we can’t figure out how to end up on a third date, too.” He kicked off his shoes and moved so he was leaning against the arm of the couch, one leg up against the back, the other hanging off so his foot was on the floor. “Come here. Gimme your back.”

Bucky hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he turned a little stiffly and inched back, resting his left arm on the back of the couch. “I get the feeling that you wanted more from me, last time.”

Steve placed his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, right next to his neck, and pressed slowly into tense muscle. “What makes you say that?”

“You know how sometimes there’s someone in a crowd, and they’re _expecting_ something to happen, so they stand out?” Bucky asked a bit more softly as his shoulders relaxed. “Fuck, that’s good. It was sort of like that — like you kept waiting for something to happen. Not something _bad_ , but... I dunno. Something.”

“Right. Okay, here we are back to subspace.” Steve kept his massage firm but not too deep. This was about keeping Bucky present in his body and giving them both something to focus on and connect to each other through. Also, Steve needed to be doing something to help. “What you saw in me was the quality of being very present in the moment and completely content to wait until you told me what you wanted. Didn’t matter what, or how long it took you to tell me. I was just _there_ , ready to be told what to do.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s right shoulder. “That’s subspace. And it feels really good for me when I get there.”

Bucky let his spine relax, exhaling softly. “But you’re an officer. Or you _were_ , anyway. And no offense, but officers are all know-it-all assholes,” he added with a laugh.

Steve dug harder into the muscles at the base of Bucky’s neck for a moment, just to hear him catch his breath. Touch-starved or not, Bucky was relaxing without reservation or even a hint of wariness at having Steve behind him. “I’m the boss at the clinic too, but when we go home at the end of the day, I don’t order Sam around.” He moved both hands to the rounded edges of Bucky’s shoulders, pressing down on flesh and metal alike. “Sometimes it’s nice to give up control, especially, I find, if you wield a lot of it in other parts of your life.”

“Then explain me,” Bucky said with a self-deprecating laugh. He made a negligent gesture with one hand, as if indicating the luxurious apartment. “What the hell am I doing?”

“I’m not a professional counselor, but it seems to me you’re finding a corner of your life where you can wield control and have someone obey you.” Steve stopped pressing on Bucky and pulled gently on his shoulders to get him to lean back against Steve’s chest. He draped one arm lightly across Bucky’s torso. All he could think about was how little agency Bucky had in dealing with Brock and his uncle, and how no amount of money seemed to help fix that. He leaned his head down to speak softly into Bucky’s ear. “Does it feel good to be obeyed for once?”

Bucky dragged in a breath, shifting his body on the couch. “Fuck, Steve,” he whispered without trying to pull free. “Yeah. Only, what do you get out of it? I may be a fucking idiot, but I know this can’t be one-sided.”

“It feels good for me to obey. It’s that simple. I like giving you control. Because that’s the thing, Buck — you can’t take it from me. This is a consensual thing. I say yes. And you know what exactly I’m saying yes to. It’s an agreement that we both enter into and we both benefit from.”

Twisting a little, Bucky pushed his hair out of his face and tried to catch Steve’s eye. “I wouldn’t want you doing all the work,” he said seriously, before a hint of his smile returned. “I loved watching what I was doing to you.”

“Exactly. I seem to remember you doing the lion’s share of the work last Friday.” Steve pressed his smile into Bucky’s temple and felt him relax even more. “Half of your orders were ‘stay right there and don’t move’ which I was more than happy to do for you.” He hugged Bucky to his chest briefly. “Who has control has very little to do with who’s doing the work.”

With a contented hum, Bucky turned and met Steve’s eye again. “That mean I could get you to hold still for me again, when I’m not in so much of a rush?” he asked in a low, interested tone.

“Yes, but we should probably talk limits before that happens.”

This close, Steve couldn’t miss the way Bucky went tense. “Fuck. What’d I do wrong?”

Steve rubbed his palm over Bucky’s chest, hoping to loosen him up again. “Nothing to do with my limits. It’s just a conversation we should have. Negotiation is important, and we didn’t start there. Asking for someone’s safeword isn’t enough.”

“Shit.” Bucky leaned back into Steve’s arms again with a sigh. “I was going to look all this stuff up, only I never got the chance, the way this fucking week went.”

Steve was almost glad Bucky hadn’t, given some of the absolute shit that was out there. “Here, grab your laptop. I have a worksheet saved in my email.”

Bucky pulled out of Steve’s arms and turned, giving him a disbelieving look. “You’re giving me _homework?_ ”

Steve pushed Bucky forward so he could get out from behind him. “You’re the one who was talking about research. This one’s fun. We can do it together.”

“Fuck. The last ‘fun’ homework I got was a sniper math workbook,” he muttered, getting up off the couch. Steve followed, mulling over his first real piece of information about Bucky’s MOS, thinking about the danger inherent in missions which would require that sort of skill. “Check over by the TV. I don’t remember where I left my bag,” Bucky said, pointing around the corner to an alcove the size of Steve’s living room and bedroom combined. There was another sofa grouping that faced a wall-mounted TV that could double as a small movie theater screen.

Steve nodded and headed that way, thinking this was also progress. They were talking, yes, but Bucky was also comfortable allowing Steve to wander around his apartment unescorted — even to search it for his laptop bag.

 _Definite progress,_ he told himself, finding dog toys everywhere and no other sign that the comfortable nook was actually lived in. No photographs or souvenirs, no coasters scattered on the endtables, no half-sorted pile of mail or magazines. Steve suspected that Bucky nested in just a couple of areas in the apartment, and the rest existed in abandoned luxury.

That sort of isolation was worrying. The only good sign was that a surreptitious check behind cushions and on the bookshelf showed no stash of weapons kept in arm’s reach.

“Found it,” Bucky yelled, just as Steve heard a squeak and the scrabble of claws. He walked back around the corner to see Winter pounce on a giant stuffed hedgehog. Bucky was grinning openly, relaxed and calm. He’d taken off his shoes and socks and carried a backpack in his metal hand. “Take off anything you want, by the way,” he invited, dropping the backpack on the dining room table.

For the first time in a week Steve felt like he was seeing the Bucky who had charmed him into going on their first date. Steve’s joy at that was a little alarming, but it buoyed him up in a way that felt too good to worry himself over.

When Winter sat down to gnaw on the hedgehog, Bucky went to the kitchen. He brought over their glasses of water, then sat down to take his laptop out of the backpack. Steve joined him, scooting his chair close so they would both be able to see the screen.

As Steve logged into his email, he explained, “The most important part in all this — not just the checklist — is that we communicate honestly with each other. About our likes and don’t-likes, what we want and don’t want, how much we can take, and when we’ve reached our limits. And we need to respect our safewords, no matter why they’re used.”

“Yeah... I know I asked about yours, but I really don’t like the idea of pushing past ‘no’,” Bucky said uncomfortably. “Or even getting close to it.”

“‘No’ and ‘stop’ are fine, too, if we haven’t agreed to play consent games. But the safeword’s something that you _think_ about. I mean, in the middle of sex, if you hear ‘icecap,’ you’re going to stop and wonder, even if you forgot it’s my safeword, right?”

Bucky huffed, leaning against Steve’s shoulder. “That or Icecap’s your cat who just jumped on your back. But yeah, okay.”

As he brought up the BDSM checklist, Steve spoke one last time in his educator role: “One more thing. Ninety percent of what’s on here is stuff I’ve never done or wanted to do. Some of it, I had to look up. So don’t feel bad if you don’t know what something is, or if you find yourself crossing off most things.” It wasn’t exactly true, but the list really was as all-encompassing as possible, to the point where he expected it would take them most of dinner to get through it. Better to be thorough now, though, than to leave gaps later.

Bucky’s grin didn’t quite cover up the flash of anxiety that showed in his expression. “This admissible in court? Or did you not realize my whole fucking family’s all lawyers, on both sides?” he teased.

“Scroll down to role-playing. I think there’s something there about lawyers and clients.”

Laughing, Bucky elbowed Steve. “Bullshit.”

Steve swiped the touchpad to get to the ‘R’ section.

Bucky leaned in, blinking a couple of times. “Fuck. Uh, yeah. Mark that no.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOB: [Forward operating base](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forward_operating_base). A secure forward military position used to support tactical operations. These can be anything from a single bunker with a barbed wire fence and controlled entry point to a multi-building, semi-permanent facility with dining halls, generators for power, medical facilities, airfields, and so on. More info [here](http://www.army.mil/article/87862/All_FOBs_are_not_the_same/) and [here](http://www.pri.org/stories/2012-03-12/afghan-vet-what-its-forward-operating-base).

“You did _not!_ ” Bucky accused, laughing, and threw his balled-up napkin at Steve. It bounced off his arm and hit the floor. Winter charged to get it, but Steve was too fast.

“We were with allies,” Steve said, grinning. He distracted Winter with a biscuit — having learned where Bucky kept them — and tossed the napkin into the trash.

Bucky scraped his plate into the disposal side of the sink. “You were in an FOB. How’d you deal with the body armor?”

Steve’s grin turned sly. “You learn to work around it. Besides, it’s all velcro and quick-release clasps.”

“Fuck. I thought I was bad,” Bucky said, switching plates to take Steve’s. “I guess baby officers didn’t get written up for that sort of shit, huh?”

“Not such a clean record for you, then?”

Bucky grinned, rinsing his hands. He didn’t bother to hide his appreciation for Steve’s body as Steve put the dishes in the dishwasher. “I didn’t say that. I was _really_ good friends with one of the guys in admin. My paperwork kept getting lost.”

“Of course it did.” Steve looked down at Winter and spoke playfully to him. “Someone is used to getting what he wants.”

Bucky moved behind Steve and got his arms around Steve’s waist. “Nah. _Someone_ just figured out which guys were lonely and interested over there.” He turned and nudged at Steve’s head, nipping as soon as his neck was bared. “Here, though, yeah. Can’t say I mind getting what I want.”

Steve sighed at the contact and leaned back into Bucky a bit. “And what would that be, soldier?”

Bucky cut off his instinctive response — _You_ — because this wasn’t nearly that simple. Not anymore. That checklist of Steve’s had given him a whole list of things he wanted to try, but most of that was off the table, at least for tonight. They’d made it about three minutes into a discussion of bondage before Bucky realized he’d never let Steve even _see_ Brock’s old cuffs. Besides, he wasn’t even sure the bed frame had anywhere to tie someone down.

Hell, maybe this wasn’t a good idea at all, tonight. Between lack of sleep and the list on the computer — with most checkmarks firmly in the _no_ or _never tried_ column —

“Stop,” Steve said, turning in his arms. He touched Bucky’s chin and tipped his head up so their eyes met. “You’re over-thinking this. Yes, it’s supposed to be safe, but it’s also supposed to be fun.”

Bucky turned to lean back against the counter, holding Steve close. “I haven’t felt this... Hell, even when I was fifteen, I figured I knew enough to get by.” He slid his hands down Steve’s back to catch his waistband. “You, though. You could teach classes on this.”

“I had a few good teachers. At fifteen, I had someone as considerate as you. And just as shit at aftercare.” Steve smiled fondly and kissed Bucky briefly. “How about we just pick one thing that sounds exciting for now?”

“Yeah, right. One thing,” Bucky said with a laugh. “Fuck, Steve. I’ve wanted more than just ‘one thing’ from you since I walked into Howling Commandos that day.”

Steve pressed close and put his mouth a breath away from Bucky’s ear. “Darling, if you take good care of me, you can have so many more things. We can work right down your list. Just, tonight, let’s focus on one.”

“I wouldn’t mind tying you up, but I’ve got nothing for that,” Bucky said, closing his eyes. He didn’t just like the idea; since Steve had brought it up, Bucky couldn’t get it out of his head.

“Hmm. Yes.” Steve trailed his lips over Bucky’s temple and cheekbone and jawline. “Got an old bedsheet we can ruin? And a knife?”

“That’d be okay?” Bucky hid his grin by nipping at Steve’s neck again. “Yeah. Bedroom?”

“Yeah. We can improvise tonight and find something more suitable tomorrow.”

Thinking they didn’t want Winter involved, Bucky said, “Winter, guard the house.” Then he gave Steve a push away from the counter, took his hand, and headed for the bedroom, torn between nervousness and exhilaration.

 

~~~

 

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with someone so nervous and so accidentally dominant. Even his first time with Bucky had been masked in false confidence. This Bucky, while closer to his real self, was practically vibrating with anxiety, though he wasn’t backing down. And that, Steve thought, meant there was hope.

They walked back down the broad hallway to the foyer, where a shorter hall led to two open doors. Through one, Steve saw a room full of weights and exercise machines. Bucky led him through the other, past two open closets and a spacious marble bathroom.

When Bucky let go, Steve hesitated, glancing into the closets, wondering why _all_ the doors were open. One closet held only a tall gun safe in the back corner — that, at least, was closed. The other closet was packed with clothes. It struck Steve as unusually messy, especially given the neat state of the rest of the apartment.

Bucky ducked into the bathroom and went right to the open linen closet at the back wall. He took down a folded off-white sheet and brought it to Steve. As he handed it over, he said, “Uh, give me one minute.” Then he went into the bedroom.

Like the rest of the apartment, the bedroom was immense, with a curved glass wall taking up two sides. Indirect lights built into the walls reflected onto the ceiling. Instead of being hidden behind curtains, the windows were tinted, muting the city lights. Another puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. Was Bucky, an admitted sniper, _not_ concerned with being observed? There was even a lounge chair by the window, with a reading lamp beside it.

Bucky knelt up on the neatly made bed and shoved his hand between the mattress and the headboard, which was a tall, padded board, rather than anything useful. Surreptitiously, Steve tried to see under the edge of the comforter. If the bed was a platform rather than a normal frame, they might have to improvise a little bit more.

When Bucky got off the bed, his body language was closed, turned away from Steve. “I’ll get a knife. It’s safe to sit. The other side of the bed is where Winter usually sleeps. All the fur.”

“Good to know. Don’t want to intrude on your point man’s territory.” He grinned at Bucky but only got a quick smile in return. And as Steve watched Bucky walk away, he caught a glimpse of something black in Bucky’s metal hand. A handgun.

_Shit._

Steve sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the two-inch gap between the mattress and the headboard. He could just see a black holster rigged against the wall. No weapons stashed in the rest of the house, but clearly the bedroom was the place Bucky needed to feel protected. Steve wondered how many times Bucky had woken up thankful his gun was in reach. Recalling his own return to the States, the number was probably depressing.

He wasn’t surprised to hear quiet beeping, followed by the loud _thunk_ of the safe unlocking. A few seconds later, he heard the door to the safe close again. Bucky walked back into the bedroom, holding a folding knife in his right hand. “I had to have a long talk with Winter about eating biscuits in bed,” he said, grinning, as he sat down next to Steve.

“Try telling a beagle puppy that marrow bones only belong in the kitchen.” He unfolded the sheet and handed one end to Bucky. “Two-inch strips.”

“If you want, I can have a talk with her,” Bucky offered, thumbing open the knife. He cut through the rolled hem, using his fingers to measure, and Steve had no doubt that the strips were within a quarter-inch of what he’d specified. “Turns out I really am pretty good with dogs. I’m thinking I might want to train dogs as more than just a hobby. I’ve got to do something, I guess.”

“After watching you on Wednesday, I’d say that’s an understatement. Not to mention how perfect Winter is as a therapy dog.”

“Winter’s just practice,” Bucky said dismissively, still cutting into the sheet. “I didn’t want to chance screwing up with one of the real therapy dogs.”

Was Bucky really that unaware of what Winter actively did for him on a daily basis? Steve hoped not, but given the layers of denial they’d already started to sift through, he wasn’t so sure. He wondered what it took to get the registration and how long it would take to convince Bucky to apply for it. “Well, Sam and I have probably already spoiled Maggie beyond help. But if you wanted another guinea pig of a dog to train, I’m pretty sure Sam would be up for it.”

Bucky shot Steve a sly grin. “Think he’d take some free dog training in trade for me kidnapping his roommate?”

“Not sure he misses me enough to make that a fair trade.” Steve grinned back.

“Then he doesn’t deserve you.” Bucky closed the knife and tossed it onto the nightstand, then moved even closer to Steve, who felt a hot blush creep across his face at the casual compliment. “So what now?”

“We rip the sheet. Start at that end,” Steve said, taking the other end and tearing a long strip free. When he reached the other hem, he pointed to the knife and asked, “May I?”

“Go ahead. I’ll rip, you cut,” Bucky offered, without a hint of concern at Steve handling his knife. That, at least, was a good sign.

Together, they reduced the soft bedsheet to strips and loose threads. After cutting away the worst of the fraying, Steve put the knife back onto the nightstand. He ran the strips of cloth through his hands, already feeling his heart start to race. Bucky wasn’t pushing, but this was still just far enough outside Steve’s comfort zone that the adrenaline gave everything an unusual clarity.

It was Bucky who broke the silence first, running his left hand up over Steve’s arm as he asked, “Are you going to take the shirt off, or should I just plan on taking you shopping next week?”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat, and he had to clear it before speaking. “Whatever you like.”

“Yeah?” Bucky twisted, one hand braced on Steve’s shoulder, and crowded close, straddling Steve’s thighs. The movement, abrupt and graceful, stole Steve’s breath all over again. “Wonder how many of these I need to destroy before I get a reputation for hating buttons.”

“If you don’t tear the fabric, you could do this to my favorite shirt and I wouldn’t care. Buttons are replaceable.” Steve shut his mouth, realizing he was rambling from the combination of Bucky’s closeness, heat, and intent.

“You know what I want?” Bucky asked, leaning in close to brush his lips against Steve’s. “You in that damned blue checked shirt. So I can strip you out of everything else and leave you in that while I fuck you somewhere in the sunlight, just to see what it does to your eyes.”

“Jesus, Buck.” Steve leaned his head back just far enough to focus on the confident, roguish gleam in Bucky’s eyes. “Yes. You can have that.”

“Good. Then how about you get out of _this_ shirt?” Bucky suggested, wrapping his cool metal hand around Steve’s nape to pull him back in for a kiss.

Steve succumbed to the kiss and Bucky’s will, and God, it felt good to do so. When Bucky ended the kiss, and Steve remembered to breathe, he said, “I thought _you_ wanted to take care of that, Sergeant.”

Bucky growled, claiming a kiss again as he let go of Steve’s nape. For one critical second, Steve lost track of Bucky’s hands before he felt a tug on his shirt, followed by gunshot-sharp _snaps_ as Bucky tore the shirt open, ripping threads and fabric with ease. Bucky gave Steve a push, and Steve caught his weight by instinct, flattening his hands on the mattress. Bucky took advantage of the position to pull Steve’s shirttails out of his jeans.

“I should’ve done this before,” Bucky said, sitting back on Steve’s thighs to get at his belt. “Dinner would’ve been much more fun with you naked.”

“Fun, maybe, but not as productive.” Steve’s gaze was riveted to Bucky’s face as he undid Steve’s belt buckle and jeans. In the low ambient light, Bucky’s thick lashes laid deep shadows across his cheekbones. The beauty of it was stunning.

“Fuck productivity,” Bucky said, flashing Steve a cocky grin. He knelt up and tugged on the jeans. Steve took the hint and lifted his hips, hissing out a breath as Bucky pulled both jeans and underwear down to his thighs. Then Bucky apparently forgot all about stripping Steve the rest of the way as he looked up the length of Steve’s body. “Fuck. I still can’t believe you’re so fucking perfect.”

Steve’s cock twitched at the verbal praise and the appreciation apparent on Bucky’s face. He would have been embarrassed about it, except for the way Bucky finally met Steve’s eyes, absolutely confident, entirely willing to take everything Steve would give.

Deliberately, Bucky braced his weight on his right hand and reached out with the left, stretching so he could get at the shirt cuff still buttoned around Steve’s wrist. One twist of his fingers ripped off the button and tore the seam halfway up Steve’s forearm.

The force of it reminded Steve how strong Bucky’s arm was, which made his heart beat hard in anticipation. Grinning even more, Bucky twisted and reached between their bodies for Steve’s other wrist. Despite the awkward angle, he tore that cuff open as well.

“Now I’m thinking I should’ve tied you up first after all,” he said, skimming his metal hand up over Steve’s arm to where his sleeve was still intact. Then he lifted his hand to look closely at it as he curled his fingers, light catching off the edges of the plates. “Never tried this before. I should’ve guessed it’d be easy.”

Steve shivered and felt heat spread through him as he registered the threat of Bucky’s strength and the trust he felt that it wouldn’t harm him. He wanted to kiss the deadly hand but couldn’t find it in him to break position from where Bucky had put him. He couldn’t even answer.

Slowly, Bucky grinned, wicked and sly. He put one cool fingertip to Steve’s lower lip and pressed, saying, “You were amazing with your mouth, last week. You just as good at that with your hands tied, Steve?”

Steve spoke against Bucky’s finger before enveloping it in his mouth. “Yes, sir.”

Bucky’s eyes closed, and he exhaled raggedly. His hand went perfectly still. Steve could feel Bucky’s intense concentration in the way his breath caught when Steve’s tongue pressed against the metal. When Steve pushed up, trapping Bucky’s finger against the roof of his mouth, Bucky whispered, “Oh, fuck. Steve.”

The plates felt smooth on his tongue as long as he ran it in one direction, but like a shark’s scales, he could tell that movement the other way would pinch. The potential for pain — though not injury, he suspected — heightened the pleasure of having Bucky’s cybernetically sensitive finger in his mouth. He took as much of it in his mouth as he could and sucked hard, making sure Bucky could feel it.

“Fuck.” Bucky opened his eyes to stare down at Steve, smile lost under his open desire. He knelt up, pulling his finger from Steve’s mouth with a show of reluctance. “Turn over.”

The sharp, clear command had Steve moving as soon as it was given, with no thought as to why. Steve was usually good at knowing what his doms wanted, sometimes even before they did, but he’d lost himself in the brand new sensation of Bucky’s finger in his mouth and had dropped the thread of where they were headed.

It wasn’t until Bucky climbed off the bed that Steve’s mind caught up, at the same time that his breath hitched. Bucky pulled down Steve’s jeans and underwear, and Steve heard the rustle of cloth as Bucky tossed them aside.

“Hands behind your back. Tell me how to do this,” Bucky said, pulling one of the strips of fabric out from under Steve’s chest.

The tug of the makeshift binding beneath his heart left Steve unable to speak for a second. Then he turned his head so he could breathe and put his hands back, forearms parallel rather than crossed. He had to swallow to be able to say, “Start in the middle of the cloth. Wrap it around both wrists with slack, three or four wraps.”

Kneeling back over Steve’s hips, Bucky slid the cloth under Steve’s wrists, gentle despite his strength. Steve couldn’t see much, but he could picture the way Bucky was measuring the ends. He had to hide a smile at the thought that Bucky was being so precise; better that than careless.

Once Steve counted four wraps, he said, “Twist the ends together, then turn ninety degrees and wrap the ends around the cloth. That way, you take up the slack. Don’t pull it too tight. You need to leave room for blood to circulate.”

It took Bucky a couple of tries to catch on. Cinching the loops, he said, “Say when it’s tight enough, okay?”

Steve nodded, and then caught his breath hard when he realized he was instructing Bucky to bind him in a way he couldn’t escape. This was a very different situation than last Friday, but it was still a new dynamic, and Steve knew better than to get himself tied up without a quick-release option. When they’d discussed bondage earlier Bucky had admitted to not owning EMT shears, which, aside from the knife on the bedside table, would be the only thing sharp enough to cut through this much fabric at once. A shiver ran up to Steve’s nape as he contemplated the stupidity of unconsciously trusting in such an inexperienced partner.

“That — That’s good,” Steve said, trying to calm himself. “Don’t knot the ends. Just put them in my hands.”

Thankfully, Bucky was either too trusting or too inexperienced to recognize what Steve was doing. He pressed the cloth to Steve’s palms, just as he’d done that first night with his tie. Steve clenched his fists and felt a change in tension around his wrists. All he had to do was let go and twist his wrists a couple of times, and there’d be enough slack for him to get free.

Bucky ran his hands over Steve’s arms, pressing into tense muscles. “You look good like this,” he said in a quiet, rough voice. “Like, someone should paint you, only don’t look at me. No artistic ability.”

Again, Steve’s cock pulsed at the praise, making him grunt into the covers. He lifted his head just enough to be heard. "You could use my camera." The moment it was out of his mouth, he wondered whether he was losing it to offer nude photos of himself to someone he wasn't even dating.

Bucky’s laugh had a sharp, tense edge to it. “Yeah, uh, not really my thing. I put up with pictures when I have to, but that’s it,” he said uncertainly, pulling his hands back.

Steve immediately missed the contact and almost made a noise of protest, but he was worried to ask for anything if Bucky was slipping out of domspace. In case that was true, he said, “I might look even better on my knees, sir.”

“Fuck. Let’s find out,” Bucky said, and Steve could hear the sudden grin in his voice. He backed off the bed, and Steve waited for Bucky to offer to help him up, but he didn’t say another word. Steve turned and saw he’d moved away, giving Steve room. When their eyes met, Bucky snapped, “Now, Steve.”

_Fuck._

A jolt of blinding heat went right through Steve at the command. It had him wriggling off the bed and dropping to his knees on the floor with lightning speed. He ended up facing away from Bucky, his breath as heavy as his cock.

For long seconds, the only sounds he heard were his own breathing, his own racing heart. Shivers crawled over his skin, and he wanted to turn and look at Bucky, to see if Bucky was looking at him or ignoring him, to see if Bucky _appreciated_ his obedience, but he’d learned better than to test a dominant that way.

But was Bucky _that_ sort of dominant? He’d moved a good two meters from the bed — far enough that maybe he’d expected Steve to go to him. And Steve was still wearing the ruined shirt. Should he try to work it over his shoulders, baring himself even more? No, that would drop the cloth down to his forearms, covering his ass and legs. Maybe he should have suggested that Bucky finish stripping him before tying his wrists.

Steve’s pulse picked up as anxiety crackled through him. He was good at knowing what his doms wanted, but he didn’t know Bucky. Not yet.

And God, a part of him wanted to suggest Bucky pick up the knife and cut off the shirt. Bucky had marked knife-play as _interested_ on the worksheet, but Steve needed rock-solid trust in his partner first.

But he _wanted_ it, even though he knew he really shouldn’t. He’d wanted it when he’d watched Bucky cutting the sheet, and he wanted it now, especially knowing that Bucky also wanted it.

A faint whisper of sound was his only warning. Then he felt a cold, hard touch on his calf — Bucky’s left hand. A shudder went through his body, following the path of Bucky’s fingers up to the back of his knee, over the back of his thigh. He’d knelt upright instinctively, rather than sitting back on his heels, and now he locked his muscles tight to keep from moving as Bucky explored.

“God,” Bucky whispered as he flattened his palm against Steve’s hip. “Fucking amazing, Steve. Do you even know how beautiful you are like this?”

Steve’s breath left him on a relieved whisper. “Oh, God.” He closed his eyes, feeling dizzy from the praise and the knowledge that he hadn’t made the wrong choice. “Thank you, sir.”

Bucky dragged his hand up Steve’s body, over his left sleeve, up to his shoulder. He slid between Steve and the edge of the mattress and sat, running his hand over Steve’s hair. As he bent his fingers, strands caught in the plates, sparking across Steve’s scalp. “You do it intentionally, don’t you? You know how good you look,” Bucky said, tugging on Steve’s hair to lift his face. “All those military drills weren’t wasted on you.”

This was new. The pain and the accusation mixed with the compliment and hit Steve’s bloodstream like a dangerous drug. It took him a second to look up at Bucky’s face and respond. “I know you like my shoulders, sir.”

“All of you,” Bucky said, giving Steve’s hair another tug, getting him to stretch up as much as he could while staying on his knees. Bucky’s light, teasing kiss, in contrast to the hand in Steve’s hair, was dizzying. “I could just stare at you for hours like this,” he whispered.

Steve’s deep love of praise was second only to his love of contradicting sensations. Bucky had gotten him so far in he would have knelt there blissfully for Bucky to stare his fill, even if it took him all night. “Whatever you like, sir.”


	13. Chapter 13

“You’d really do that for me, wouldn’t you? Let me keep you on your knees like this for the rest of the night, just so I could look at you?” Bucky asked softly, amazed that he already knew the answer. It went against everything Bucky knew about the give-and-take of sex, but in this case, that was the wrong way to think. This _was_ give-and-take, for Steve. And as alien as the idea seemed, Bucky was starting to understand.

“Yes, sir.” Steve’s voice was rough, as if his mouth were dry.

And that was all. No pressure for Bucky to do something else, no demand to move things along, no expectation. Or if there was, it was an expectation that Bucky was fulfilling simply by being there with Steve, watching and touching and talking.

So, even though it felt dangerous and a little bit uncertain, Bucky _didn’t_ move things along. He held Steve’s hair tightly in his left hand and touched Steve’s face with his right, gently tracing over his bones. When he ran a fingertip over Steve’s eyebrows, Steve closed his eyes, but that was all he did until Bucky touched his lip. Then, he opened his mouth just a little, enough for Bucky to feel warm breath.

Encouraged, Bucky let go of Steve’s hair and broadened his exploration, tracing down his neck and under his ripped shirt. The muscles in Steve’s shoulders and chest were sharply defined by the position of his arms. The lightest touch raised goosebumps on his skin. Bucky let his left hand rest over Steve’s heart and closed his eyes, feeling the way his pulse raced, though his breathing was steady and controlled.

“One day,” Bucky said thoughtlessly, “can I tie you so I can get at all of you? Hell, I’ll buy a new bed, if that’s what it takes. I just want to touch you everywhere.”

Steve’s breath stuttered on the inhale, and his voice broke on his answer. “Yes, please, sir.”

Again and again, that _sir_ stole Bucky’s breath. “Fuck. Every fucking time I think you can’t get any more perfect...” He threaded his fingers into Steve’s hair to pull him up into another kiss, thinking this was almost too much for him. _Nothing_ was this good in his life — not without some terrible downside. But he and Steve had already been through that, and Steve was still here. He broke the kiss to bite at Steve’s lip, whispering, “Mine.”

Steve moaned softly, deeply, though whether it was at his word or his teeth Bucky wasn’t sure. The sound spiked right into Bucky’s body, igniting his blood, and he couldn’t resist touching Steve’s mouth with his metal fingertips again.

Almost immediately the tip of Steve’s tongue peeked out to press against the metal. The combination of yielding flesh and a strong push scrambled Bucky’s sensors for a moment. Shivering, he closed his eyes, as that made the signals stronger, not weaker. Without sight to help his brain interpret the electrical impulses, all he could do was experience the raw data.

“Maybe not on a bed,” Bucky said roughly, barely aware that he was speaking his thoughts aloud. “Standing, maybe, so I can get at you everywhere. Fuck, Steve, your mouth... So damned good.”

The sensors lit up in a ring around the tip of his finger. Bucky opened his eyes just long enough to see Steve lean forward, sliding his mouth over Bucky’s finger. The sight was so distracting that he had to close his eyes again to concentrate on how all the sensors lit up, registering the soft pressure of Steve’s mouth. And God, he was tempted to let Steve just do this, exploring each finger in turn, but he knew that he’d end up overloading and giving himself a migraine if he pushed as long as he wanted.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand back. He opened his eyes and saw Steve watching him intently, eyes wide and dark, with only the least hint of blue around the edges. “Gorgeous,” Bucky whispered, brushing his fingers over Steve’s face where it colored pink at the compliment.

Steve had said he liked praise, but to watch what it did to his body was intoxicating. Bucky dropped his hands to Steve’s shoulders, sliding his fingertips under the remnants of the shirt. He pushed, and Steve flexed his arms enough that the fabric fell down to gather at his bent elbows.

“Next time, I’ll just cut it off so I can see all of you,” Bucky said, leaning down so he could lick at Steve’s ear. “You’re too fucking pretty to hide, even with a ripped shirt. I like seeing all of you way too much.”

“Yes, sir.” Steve’s whisper was the softest thing, and Bucky only heard it because Steve’s mouth was amidst the hair tucked behind Bucky’s ear.

“You ready for more?” Bucky asked, turning to run his lips over Steve’s jaw. “Still want your mouth.”

Steve’s eyelashes caught in Bucky’s hair as they fluttered, and the words, when they left his lips, came out as a groan. “Please, sir.”

Bucky had to close his eyes again to steady himself. He thought he’d known the difference between sincere and fake before, but he’d never heard such desire — not like this. He took a couple of deep breaths before he could trust himself to stand. The rustle of clothes over his skin made him shiver, and he stripped off his T-shirt, thinking he wanted to feel as much of Steve as he could. The T-shirt landed on the floor by the doorway; Bucky’s jeans and underwear followed a moment later.

A search of his nightstand produced lube but no condoms, because he didn’t bring anyone here. “Shit,” he muttered, turning back to look at Steve. He was still kneeling upright at the side of the bed, patiently waiting, but Bucky could see the tension in his body. Bucky touched his shoulder, pushing down gently, and said, “Give me a minute. Stay here.”

Steve nodded and sat back on his heels, clearly ready to wait as long as necessary. Bucky gave in to the urge and watched him for a few seconds, just long enough to see the tension ease from Steve’s shoulders and back. Then he made himself turn and head for the bathroom, where he knew he had a couple of boxes of condoms in the cabinet.

Maybe, if this was going to turn into a regular thing, he should keep one in the nightstand after all.

The thought made him stop in his tracks. He looked up and met his own eyes in the mirror.

Brock had made it as far as the dining room, once, and the foyer two more times. Three screaming fights, two that turned physical, and only one that turned into sex, rough and angry and bitterly satisfying, but nothing Bucky wanted anywhere near his bedroom. And yet, he hadn’t even thought twice about inviting Steve in.

Steve was dangerous. He was strong — probably stronger than Bucky, without factoring in the cybernetic arm. Bucky had no idea of his service record or training. He was practically a stranger.

So why the hell did Bucky trust him so completely?

It had nothing to do with Steve’s submission. Bucky’s whole life, he’d been surrounded by the _“Whatever you want, Mr. Pierce”_ types. Or maybe it _was_ because of Steve’s submission, since there wasn’t an agenda behind it. Just mutual pleasure.

Bucky took one of the boxes back into the bedroom — where he stopped again, entranced by the sight of Steve. As far as Bucky could tell, Steve hadn’t moved, other than the faint shift of his breathing and slight bowing of his head. Bucky leaned against the doorway, quietly saying, “You really are good, aren’t you?”

Steve raised his head but didn’t turn to look at Bucky. He just sat there patiently, as if aware that the question didn’t require an answer. Bucky didn’t entirely understand subspace, as Steve had explained it, but he suspected it was something like the long, patient moments — hours or days, even — of watching a kill zone through a scope, waiting for the wind and weather and target to all come together for that one perfect shot.

That more than anything had Bucky convinced that Steve was anything but weak or fragile. He was on his knees, hands bound, but there was an incredible power about him, like a thunderstorm waiting to break free.

And Bucky wanted to be the one to push him to that point.

He crossed the bedroom to where Steve knelt, stopping just behind him, and caught short gold strands of hair in his right hand, giving a sharp, sudden tug. Steve’s breath hitched, and as he let Bucky pull his head back, his eyes closed.

“Good boy,” Bucky said, tossing the box on the bed so he could rest his metal hand on Steve’s bared throat, feeling the echo of his pulse in two different clusters of sensors, at his fingertips and thumb.

The groan of pleasure that came from Steve’s throat was scratched and breathy because of the angle at which his head was tipped. Bucky dragged his left hand farther up, over Steve’s jaw, to cover his mouth. There were fewer sensors on Bucky’s palm, and they were calibrated down so he could grip objects without overloading. Steve’s lips were a bare electric whisper in Bucky’s brain. When he opened his mouth, touching the tiny protective plates with his tongue, a little shiver crawled down Bucky’s spine.

“Steve?” He crouched down without letting go of Steve’s hair, though he gentled his hold, combing his fingers through the strands. He leaned against Steve’s strong, hot back, trapping Steve’s bound hands between their bodies, and kissed behind his ear. Bucky drew his other hand away enough for Steve to be able to answer. “Babe?”

“Hm?” The question was a short, soft breath with only a hint of voice in it.

“I want to fuck your mouth now, Steve.” Bucky licked at the shell of his ear, lowering his voice to a whisper. “And after I finish, I want to touch you everywhere. Take my time with you. Maybe get you to beg me to let you come. Would you do that for me?”

“Yes. God, yes. Please, sir.” Steve’s voice was sheer need, and it hit Bucky like a breaking storm. He dropped his head and bit Steve’s shoulder, holding Steve’s body tight against his chest.

It almost hurt to let go, to stand up and put distance between them, even though it was only long enough for Bucky to sit down in front of Steve. He couldn’t manage the fine motor control to keep from crushing the box of condoms, so he opened it with his right hand, spilling them onto the bed. He ripped one off and had to use his teeth to tear it open, and it took him a couple of moments to calm down enough to roll it on.

Deliberately, he rested his left hand at the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the comforter. “Start slow,” he said, combing his fingers through Steve’s hair to draw him forward.

Steve raised up off his heels to kneel forward and bent over Bucky’s lap as if bowing to a dignitary. He waited until his mouth was an inch from the head before he breathed out the words, “Yes, sir.”

 

~~~

 

This was good. This was better than good. This was everything Steve wanted right that moment. And many of the moments leading up to that one. The hard flesh sheathed in latex was a familiar reward, something he had been good for and was good at pleasuring. He filled his mouth with Bucky, who fit against Steve’s tongue and palate in such a deeply satisfying way that it wasn’t just the gag reflex making his eyelashes wet. He wanted to be perfect for Bucky, to hear the sharp breaths and praise and feel hands in his hair and hips stuttering forward, even if they made him choke. Because he knew if they did it wasn’t to hurt, but because he was doing so well Bucky couldn’t help himself. Steve’s mouth watered all over and his lips swelled up and his tongue started to ache and the back of his throat had been bumped enough times that he still felt it, and everything felt _so good._

And then he heard the way Bucky’s breath caught, felt the tension in his body change, and there was no warning — no polite push back or muttered hint — because there didn’t need to be. Steve wanted this, and Bucky wanted this, and that was all that mattered. He took Bucky’s cock deep one last time, then pulled back in the short, sharp strokes he remembered Bucky liking, and his reward was Bucky’s bitten-off gasp before he felt Bucky’s cock pulse against his tongue.

He pulled back slowly, arms straining at the cotton sheet that he’d pulled tight around his own wrists. Every instinct was to keep taking care of Bucky — to pull off the condom and clean him up and then kneel at his feet, aching and fulfilled all at once — but he kept his hands where they were.

“Fuck. So good, Steve,” Bucky said, leaning over to pet Steve’s body and press kisses against his hair. His breath came in gasps, and his voice was wrecked. “So fucking _perfect_.”

Steve’s breath was half-sob when it came, the praise filling the space inside him that Bucky’s cock had left. A scratchy whisper was all that he could manage to say what he felt so deeply, it tore at him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Come up here,” Bucky said, sitting back on the mattress. Then he laughed, breathless and ragged. “Shit. My bed isn’t made for this. I want you on your back, but I _really_ like having you tied up.”

It took Steve a moment to process that Bucky was worried about how comfortable Steve would be. Then another to realize how uncomfortable what he was suggesting actually was. Steve’s brain sluggishly went through the process of remembering there was nowhere on the bed to tie him to, which meant the best option was an obedience game.

He carefully got to his feet and climbed onto the mattress to sit next to Bucky. “If you told me to put my hands on the headboard and not let go, I would do that.”

The way Bucky’s eyes widened told Steve just how much he liked that idea. “Really?” he asked quietly, before he managed a sly grin. “’Cause I really do want to take my time with you.” He leaned in and kissed Steve’s cheek, adding, “I’ve seen how good you can be. Now I want to see if I can make you be bad, too.”

Steve had to take a deep breath then close his eyes while exhaling to keep his heart from jumping out of his chest. As it pounded in his throat he nodded slowly. “Yes. Okay.”

The sheer pleasure in Bucky’s answering smile warmed Steve all the way through. Bucky kissed him again, lips lingering on his jaw, and then leaned back to look at Steve’s wrists. “You need help undoing that?” When Steve shook his head, Bucky said, “Okay. Get rid of it, then. Do you need anything? Water?”

Steve did a quick internal check, taking into account Bucky’s warning that he wanted to take his time, and nodded. “Water, please.” Then he let go the ends of the cloth binding strip and twisted his wrists to loosen the wrappings. He slid his hands out and slowly brought his arms forward, breathing deeply through the pain that the prolonged stress had caused. The freedom was slightly disorienting.

He heard the water run in the bathroom, followed by the click of Winter’s claws as Bucky went out into the apartment. Quietly, he heard Bucky say, “Winter, guard,” before entering the bedroom. Bucky looked at Steve, and when their eyes met, he grinned. He walked over to sit next to Steve and handed him a bottle of water, slightly fogged with condensation on the outside. “You all right?”

Steve couldn’t keep the fondness that had welled up in him as Bucky entered the room out of his smile or his voice. “Yes, sir.” He swallowed half the water before adding, “You?”

Bucky shifted back onto the bed, then turned to shove the condoms and box to the other side. Once he was settled, he braced his metal arm against the mattress behind Steve’s back and leaned in to kiss along the line of his shoulder. “Yeah. You have any _idea_ how good you are at that?”

Steve felt the heat rise in his cheeks and ducked his head to rub his nose in Bucky’s hair. He’d had a good number of people compliment that particular skill, but hearing Bucky say it just then had him purring inside. “Praise is a strong motivator.”

Bucky laughed softly. “I couldn’t even stand, Steve,” he mock-complained before nipping Steve’s shoulder. “Hell, if I’d started on my feet, I wouldn’t have ended that way, you were so damned good.” He kissed where he’d nipped and said, more quietly, “It’s like you read my mind or something.”

Steve turned his head and matched Bucky’s volume, his mouth near Bucky’s forehead. “It’s my job to pay attention to what you like.”

Bucky’s thoughtful hum abruptly dissolved into, “Shit. Sorry. Let me just —” He cut off and kissed Steve’s shoulder before he got off the mattress. “Sort of unprepared. I don’t bring people here, ever,” he said, before he left the bedroom again.

Steve watched Bucky leave with idle curiosity until what he’d said sunk in.

_Well, shit._

He felt a combination of pleasure at being trusted to enter into the inner sanctum and pain at the idea of Bucky isolating himself that much. Also, the solid ball of worry that settled in his stomach at just how strongly that, on top of all the other precautionary behaviors, pointed to PTSD. Steve definitely needed to introduce Bucky to Sam.

The grim train of thought had Steve more aware of his surroundings. When Bucky walked in, Steve studied his walk and felt some of his tension ease. There wasn’t any sign of discomfort or awkwardness at having someone — a stranger, essentially — in his private space. He was relaxed and confident, entirely unashamed at his nudity or the metal arm that was so clearly displayed even in the subdued bedroom lighting.

Bucky’s grin reappeared as he sat down next to Steve. He dropped a package of latex gloves and pulled Steve into his arms for a kiss. After the cold water, his mouth was scorching hot by comparison, playfully demanding Steve’s attention.

“Doing okay?” he asked when he drew back enough to look into Steve’s eyes.

Steve smiled and nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” He looked away from Bucky for a moment to set his water bottle on the nightstand, and when he looked back, Bucky’s smile took on a dangerous grin.

“On your back. Hands on the headboard,” he ordered, inching over on the mattress to make room.

Steve closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of joy at this, all of this, and how good it felt — how good it was going to feel — to be the one present here with Bucky as he took his first steps as an informed, intentional dominant. Steve lay back and raised his hands above his head. “Yes, sir.”


	14. Chapter 14

Steve wasn’t impossible to read, but it was damned close. Oh, sure, his breath hitched and he writhed gorgeously and arched up against Bucky’s hands and body and mouth, but the burning need building between them had hit some sort of plateau, like a storm not quite ready to break, filling the room with energy that punched the air from Bucky’s lungs and left him growing even more desperate than Steve.

Not that Bucky was _really_ complaining. Because there was absolutely nothing to complain about. Steve’s body was even more perfect than Bucky remembered from last Friday, and Bucky wasn’t in a rush. Even the exhaustion was creeping up in slow, careful steps, rather than hitting him all at once, telling him he could afford to take his time.

And _that_ meant he had time to think.

He licked his way back up Steve’s body to lie beside him, metal fingertips resting lightly over his pulse. Steve’s breathing was still mostly controlled, but his heart was racing, lighting up the sensors in Bucky’s first two fingers.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky whispered, nuzzling into the space between Steve’s neck and his raised arm. His hands were still at the headboard, fingertips pressed into the padding.

“Hmm?” The word was all breath and hum, and sounded almost like a purr.

Bucky grinned and kissed the side of Steve’s throat, right above his pulse. “You’ve been real good, Steve. You haven’t moved even once.”

Steve’s tiny gasp at the praise made Bucky wonder if he could get addicted to complimenting someone. And after a few more seconds of silence broken only by the electric pulse of Steve’s heartbeat against Bucky’s fingertips, Bucky began to think that maybe Steve wasn’t quite as composed as he’d seemed.

“You’ve been so good,” Bucky said with another kiss, “I think you deserve something more. But only if you can _keep_ being good for me. Do you think you can do that for me, babe?”

A hitch of breath, a flexing of muscles like an internal check-in, and then a response. “Yes, sir.”

“Then you pick — but you _can’t move_ , no matter what you pick. You’ve got to keep your hands where they are.” Bucky slid his leg over Steve’s and got closer to his ear, whispering more softly, “Do you want me to fuck you, or do you want me to ride you instead, Steve?”

The air left Steve’s lungs like he’d been kicked in the gut, catching in his throat on the way out as a strangled exhale. He paused a moment before answering. “Whatever you want, sir.”

Bucky pushed up to stare down at Steve, hoping like hell Steve couldn’t see the sudden spike of nervousness threatening to undermine his confidence. “Wrong answer,” he snapped, channeling his military training, when he’d had to deal with stupid officers and even stupider privates. “Decide.”

Steve’s eyes were closed, and he flinched, his brow furrowed in either worry or indecision. He took only another second to open his eyes and look at Bucky, then answered, his voice soft and unsure, “Do you want me inside you?”

Bucky’s first instinct was to push, but his self-confidence had already cracked. Was he _not_ supposed to do this? _Officers_ weren’t supposed to ask for a vote from their subordinates, but this was different. Maybe. Or it wasn’t.

_Fucking shit._

He sat up and turned, looking for a hint of what to do next, any sort of escape. He should’ve known better than to try something like this — he’d just meant it to be playful — but he hadn’t thought it through.

Only then did he remember their talk about safewords and reassurances, and he forced out, “Parallax.” He had to clench his jaw to keep from calling for Winter.

He felt the bed shift as Steve immediately sat up and put a hand on the small of Bucky’s back. “Are you okay, Buck?”

There it was again — that distant name that made Bucky flinch inside, just like the day of the photoshoot. He nodded, taking deep breaths, trying to focus on a distant point of light beyond the window. “Yeah,” he lied roughly. “Sorry. Maybe — I haven’t slept much this last week.”

Steve inched closer and leaned his head on Bucky’s right shoulder. _“I’m_ sorry. We don’t have to do that option if you don’t want to.”

“What?” Bucky asked blankly. He almost turned, but he stopped himself, unsure if he was really ready to see Steve’s disappointment. He wanted to get up and leave, but where would he go? To hide in the bathroom? To scare the night manager into finding him a pair of pants so he could leave without getting arrested?

 _Fuck_.

Steve’s voice sounded unsure, trying to piece things together, but his hands were now firmly placed on Bucky’s hip and arm. “You asked me to choose an option. I did, and you safeworded. I’m sorry I picked the thing you didn’t want.”

“You _didn’t_ ,” Bucky said, struggling to get the words out. He couldn’t keep from pushing back against Steve’s touch, even though he told himself to stop _wanting_ that reassurance.

“Didn’t _what,_ baby?” Steve sounded confused, but he didn’t pull away, instead he moved closer and rested his chin on Bucky’s shoulder.

“You didn’t pick _anything_. You asked —” was as far as he got before he had to shut his mouth, realizing he sounded like a complete ass. Why the hell was he overreacting when Steve was trying to be _nice_ and figure out what _he_ wanted?

Steve took a deep breath, and Bucky braced for a lecture about how doms were supposed to act, but all he said was, “I was in subspace, darling. I couldn’t _tell_ you to do anything. I made my decision; it just came out a question.” He kissed Bucky’s shoulder before continuing. “I’m sorry if it sounded like I was questioning _you._ ”

Bucky’s exhale was a little broken with relief that hit him harder than he’d expected. “I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t know.”

“Bucky, can you look at me for a second?”

Hesitantly, Bucky turned, eyes glancing over the condoms that hadn’t fallen off the bed, the package of gloves he still hadn’t touched, before he looked up, meeting Steve’s eyes. They were mild and fond and held not a hint of anger or disappointment, and Bucky felt some of the tension die out.

“There was nothing wrong with asking. You gave me a choice as a reward last week too. It’s just that these two options didn’t seem weighted the same. Over the worksheet at dinner you said that you don’t bottom much at all, and I was looking for confirmation that you wanted to. I needed your consent for that option to feel okay.” Steve held out his hand, and Bucky took hold of it with his left hand. Steve’s pulse was steady, and the regular rhythm helped calm Bucky even further.

“I don’t bottom, because most guys are assholes about it,” Bucky admitted, thinking not just of a too-long string of one-night stands, but also of Brock. “Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it.”

Steve nodded. “Okay, I’m sorry. In the future I won’t disregard the implied consent when you give me options.”

For a moment, Bucky tripped up on Steve’s words, before a lifetime of growing up around lawyers kicked in. He let out a laugh that was ragged with both relief and understanding, and he turned, pushing his way into Steve’s arms. “This is so fucking complicated,” he muttered, feeling more tension melt away when Steve’s hands came up, resting on his back. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Steve’s left hand slid up to cup the back of Bucky’s neck. “It is, and you haven’t.” He pressed a kiss against Bucky’s temple. “And I’m glad you safeworded so we could talk this through.”

Bucky bit back a sigh of relief. _It wasn’t all ruined_.

He closed his eyes, hiding a shiver as he became conscious of the room’s cool air. “What now?”

“Whatever you want. We could go back to what we were doing, or do something else, or just call Winter in and go to sleep.”

The panic that had died down spiked all over again at the thought of sleeping next to someone. “Are you tired?” Bucky asked, trying to sound casual. “I mean, you didn’t get off, and things just sort of... fell apart.”

Steve pulled away far enough to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Safewording doesn’t have to end things, but it certainly can, at least for a little while. May I make a suggestion?”

Hoping like hell it wouldn’t involve the two of them actually sleeping in the same bed, Bucky said, “Yeah. Of course.”

“You go take a hot shower. Let me take Winter for a walk. I’m used to taking Maggie for an evening walk. Then we can maybe pick things up again, if you want?”

Relief almost made Bucky laugh. “I can walk him. You don’t have to.”

Steve gave Bucky a serious look. “Bucky... You have to know, I’m _really_ only with you for your dog.”

That _did_ make Bucky laugh, shattering the tension that had started to build in him all over again. “In that case, go for it.”

“I’ll need to borrow a shirt.”

“Mmm. Yeah, I don’t feel like sharing the view.” Bucky got out of bed and went to the closet, where he dug through his T-shirts to find one that wouldn’t be _too_ tight. He finally found a heavy navy blue tee that still had the tags. He ripped them off, then brought it out to the bedroom. Steve had already pulled on his jeans, which was a fucking shame. Bucky tossed him the shirt, saying, “Closest I can get to your color.”

“Let’s worry a bit more about size, soldier.” Steve’s face was adorably fake-stern as he pulled the shirt on and judged its tightness in his shoulders and arms.

Bucky grinned. “Not too bad. Let’s save that one for me to rip off you some day.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, and a second later, his grin followed. “Deal. Go shower. I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks for doing this.” He leaned in to kiss Steve, feeling a little bit better about how everything had gotten sidetracked. “There are plastic bags hanging on a hook in the hallway closet. The keycard’s in the bowl by the door. Come join me in the shower when you’re back?”

“Absolutely.”

 

~~~

 

Steve left Bucky heading to the bathroom for a shower and walked out into the main room to find Winter. He was lying down on a rug near the couch. When Steve approached, Winter looked up and wagged his tail.

“Hey, pal. You wanna go for a walk?”

Winter surged up to his feet, almost bouncing in his rush to get to the door, where he skidded into a sit position, staring at Steve as if telepathically urging him to hurry.

Well, that was easy.

He found the leash next to where Bucky had said the keycard would be, and grabbed a couple plastic bags before hooking on the leash and leaving the apartment.

From the start, Steve was very aware of how different this walk would be from Maggie-wrangling. He was used to a constant pull on his arm and excited jumping on everything of even mild interest. Winter, however, walked directly next to Steve on the side he held the leash, and sat the moment they came to a stop at the elevator. The civilized nature of it all had Steve feeling the urge to engage his walking companion in conversation. He figured it was bad form to talk with a dog about their owner, though, and he wasn’t confident enough with any of Bucky’s normal commands, so he limited his comments to praise for being so well-behaved.

And he thought a lot about Bucky. This evening had been exactly what Steve needed to feel okay about things after last week and, well, all the other misunderstandings that had happened since then. He had a good idea of how much the talk (which he was pretty sure hadn’t felt like _the talk_ ) had helped Bucky get some understanding of both his instincts and their consequences. Even the safewording moment had felt like progress. _Especially_ that moment, for Steve. He wouldn’t normally question a dom unless something was wrong, though not quite at safeword-level, but it hadn’t felt like _questioning_. It was more like permission or a check-in. Clearly, though, Bucky hadn’t taken it that way. One was always learning in this game, it seemed.

The problem at hand was another whole thing to think through. Bucky had spectacularly spiraled out of topspace when he’d safeworded and might not want to attempt anything more all night, which meant it was aftercare time. And the shower would help, for both of them, but sleeping could very well be a problem. If he wasn’t used to having people in the house at all, how would he feel about someone in his bed? Also, Bucky was used to basically sleeping with a gun under his pillow. What would happen without it, and with another person?

In any other instance, Steve would stay only long enough for them both to feel cared for, and then find his way home so that Bucky could feel safe, alone in his space. But after what they’d done, and how it had ended, Steve wanted to be there when topdrop hit.

He’d gone on autopilot with Winter, who had been happy to let him fall into a brown study, and they’d taken care of everything by just going around the block, so even in the elevator Steve was still thinking about ways to ease Bucky’s mind about sleep. Or exhaust him to the point of passing out. When he got the apartment door open he didn’t bother with the security check, even though he was sure Winter rarely entered without doing one. He simply unhooked the leash and gave the dog a treat before toeing his shoes off and heading toward the sound of running water.

The bathroom door was open slightly. As he entered, Steve spared just a moment to wonder if that was an invitation or a security measure before the steamy heat enveloped him. The shower doors were transparent and only faintly frosted, so Steve had a slightly blurred view of Bucky, naked, hair flattened against his scalp and neck, his metal arm gleaming, as he arched his neck and back to lean into the spray.

Before Steve could spur himself into moving, Bucky turned, and even through the hazy, fogged glass, Steve saw his smile come to life, wicked and comfortable, lighting up his eyes. He pushed open the shower door and reached through the clouds of steam to take hold of the waistband of Steve’s jeans.

A tug closed the distance between them, and water soaked into the front of Steve’s shirt as Bucky leaned out of the shower for a slow, deep kiss. “I like you in my clothes,” Bucky said, spacing the words between breaths and licks. Steve felt Bucky’s hands working to unbutton and unzip his jeans. “Like you more out of them.”

Steve hadn’t anticipated this level of comfort and interest, but it took him about half a second to get on board with it. “Yes, sir.” He pulled Bucky’s shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor, then took over pants-removal from Bucky, letting them and his underwear pool on the bathmat. He just barely had time to strip off his socks and toss them aside before he was yanked into the hot shower, and his back hit the cool marble wall.

Bucky crowded close, kissing down Steve’s neck to his collarbone, where he bit lightly, carefully. His skin was scorching hot from the water, and Steve shivered at the contrast of temperatures. Bucky ran his hands down Steve’s arms, teasing over his wrists, then back up to scratch at Steve’s shoulders.

“Winter okay?” he asked, getting even closer, pushing one leg between Steve’s. His cock pressed against Steve’s thigh and hip, catching on skin and sliding where water ran down Steve’s body, making Steve wonder if he’d been hard before or only since Steve had joined him. And that made Steve wonder just what Bucky might have been doing in the shower, perhaps with his metal hand.

“A delight. A perfect gentleman.” He bared his throat to Bucky but before anything could come of it, he gasped slightly. Bucky looked up, concerned, and Steve shook his head. “I forgot to tell him to guard the house. Sorry.”

Steve felt a hint of tension in Bucky’s body, but that was all. Bucky nipped Steve’s throat, right under his jaw, and said, “Winter’s not an attack dog. If Brock manages to talk his way past the fucking desk, I can deal with him.”

The black-and-white fact that Bucky perceived his main threat to safety to be that fucker Brock made Steve instantly see red. He pressed his head back into the tiled wall and then pulled it an inch away and deliberately banged it back into place. The jarring smack pulled him back from the sharp edge of anger and cleared his mind.

“Hey. You okay?” Bucky asked, getting his right hand behind Steve’s head. “What happened?”

Steve blinked slowly and found a bit of a smile to give Bucky. “Do me a favor?”

“Anything,” Bucky said, frowning even more as he rubbed at Steve’s head, keeping his touch gentle.

“Tomorrow morning, call building management and give them Brock’s description. Tell them he’s not allowed in the building — not even on the property.”

Bucky sighed and leaned his arm against the wall so he wasn’t pressed so close to Steve’s body. “He was my emergency contact, Steve. I told them to update their system a couple months back. He’s mostly stayed down in the lobby or outside.”

Steve refused to plead with him over this, partially because he didn’t want to coerce Bucky into anything, and partially because he couldn’t help feeling like the new partner who was jealous of the old ex. But he couldn’t quite let it go.

“ _Was._ Past tense. And ‘mostly’ isn’t actually respecting your boundaries.” He reached for Bucky’s hips, but just rested his hands there, not pulling him close for fear of meeting resistance.

Instead of answering right away, Bucky took a couple of breaths, then stepped back from the wall. He tugged Steve’s arm and switched places, getting Steve under the direct spray. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s really not like that. Brock’s an asshole, and he won’t just go the fuck away, but he’s also probably the only reason I have two working arms. After I got back, he was _all_ I had, for a long time, until the dogs at Howling Commandos.” He sighed, and a note of resignation crept into his voice as he added, “And it would be a fucking political win for him to openly hook up with the nephew of the Secretary of Defense. He’s looking to move into an office job.”

“He’s outright _using you_ for political gain? And you... I —” Steve scrubbed his face with his hands to clear the water out of his eyes. “I can’t have this conversation. Not” — he reached for the shower door and slammed it open so he could step, steaming and dripping, onto the bathmat — “in the goddamned shower.”

Bucky turned off the water and followed, saying, “Come on, Steve. They do that shit, but I don’t.” His voice took on a desperate edge. “Why do you think I changed my name? I want _out_ of all that.”

Steve took hold of Bucky’s shoulders and stared intently into his eyes. “Then fucking _get out,_ and don’t let them bully you back in.”

“I did!” Bucky shook his head and pushed his hair back out of his face. “I did over six months ago. My uncle’s done here. He’s gone, along with Brock. Then I just have to deal with this fucking wedding, and maybe they’ll finally leave me alone.”

As Steve focused on where Bucky was biting his lip, he came to the realization that what he was asking was tantamount to a rejection of family. He shivered as the water on his skin cooled and he rubbed his hands up and down Bucky’s shoulders. The contrasting surfaces helped ground him a bit. “I’m sorry, Buck. I have no idea what it’s like. I shouldn’t ask you to do something like that.”

Bucky pulled away and tugged towels down from the rack. He held one out to Steve without making eye contact. “My father got all sorts of shit for marrying Mom,” he said, turning away so he could start drying off. “Only the fact that she was valedictorian of her law class at Cornell and started winning elections got him in good with the family again. The Barneses are nobodies — not like the Pierces. So my changing my name?” He darted a quick look at Steve. “I have three sisters. That’s it. Just me and my uncle.”

“Shit.” Steve quickly wrapped the towel around his waist and put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Okay. I’m sorry.” When Bucky didn’t pull away he stepped closer. “I just see how hounded by them you look, especially with Brock, and I get upset.” He combed his fingers through the hair at the back of Bucky’s neck. “I’ll lay off. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like we’re the Kennedys or Bushes. You have to be deep into politics to know us.” Bucky let out an irritated huff. “Them. _Fuck._ And it doesn’t even help, being gay. Not with how things are changing. It just makes the press go _more_ crazy for you.” He started toweling off his hair, glancing at Steve again. “You didn’t ask for this shit. You don’t have to deal with it. I can take you home, if you want.”

Steve took a moment to assess where that offer came from. Bucky was half-turned away from him, but hadn’t moved away from his closeness or contact. His voice was more defeated than offended. He’d shifted the focus of the conversation from Brock to his family. This wasn’t about Steve.

“I won’t leave unless you want me to.”

“I don’t know why you’d want to stay,” Bucky admitted quietly. “Doesn’t get much more fucked up than this.”

Steve stepped directly behind Bucky, hands reaching for his hips, breath ghosting on the hair covering his neck. “Well, remember, I’m a glutton for punishment...”

Bucky sighed but didn’t press back into Steve’s touch. “Say that after you’ve actually _met_ them,” he muttered, shoving his towel over the bar. He turned, meeting Steve’s eyes tentatively, without the direct, challenging stare he’d had just minutes ago, in the shower. “If you want to get back in the shower, I’ve got plenty of towels.”

Steve mentally kicked himself for derailing Bucky’s comfortable, confident mood. He’d done the exact opposite of what he’d promised himself he’d aim for while on his walk. Now he really had his work cut out for him. Without taking a moment to check in with himself, he responded, “I’m fine.”

Avoiding Steve’s eyes again, Bucky slipped past him, saying, “So, what now?” as he walked out of the bathroom and crossed to the closet.

Jesus, Steve was doing it all wrong. He was absolutely _not_ demonstrating how to have a successful D/s interaction. He followed Bucky and took hold of his hand before he could start picking out clothes. “Aftercare.”

This time, Bucky did meet Steve’s eyes. His laugh, unsmiling, was short and a little bitter. “You sure you want to take that chance?”

Steve raised his brows in confusion but smiled at Bucky, not letting go of his hand. “There’s a level of chance in cuddling on the couch?”

“Considering how I’ve fucked up everything else tonight?” Bucky countered.

Steve stepped close and reached with his free hand for Bucky’s cheek. “Baby, you haven’t fucked up anything. Shit happens, and there are misunderstandings. I promise you, this is nowhere near the worst night I’ve had subbing.”

With a quiet sigh, Bucky stepped into Steve’s arms, muttering, “Who do I have to kill for you?”

Steve’s laugh was shocked out of him at the combination of affection and menace that oozed out of his baby dom. “You are perfect.” He wrapped his arms around Bucky and kissed his head. “And no one. I repeat, do not kill anyone.”

This time, Bucky’s laugh was a little less sharp. He rested his hands on Steve’s waist and said, “Just over 1.3 miles, Steve. I’d never be caught.”

Steve let out a low whistle, impressed. “I’m not gonna lie — that’s hot and I want to see it, but only if you’re aiming at paper. I mean it.”

“We’ll see how persistent my sisters get about this fucking wedding.” He slid his hands up Steve’s back, holding him a little closer. “You want something to wear? The A/C’s a little too good here, sometimes.”

“I’d rather take a blanket to the couch than have us miss out on surface area.”

Way back at dinner, when they’d talked through all of the relevant terms, he’d specifically told Bucky that he appreciated physical grounding from his partner — touch, cuddling, close physical presence — after subbing for them. He had actually used the phrase ‘the more surface area, the better’ about skin-to-skin contact.

Bucky gave a little nod of understanding and glanced over at the bed, still neatly made on the far half. He pulled free of Steve’s arms and went to strip off the comforter, tossing the condoms and everything else on to the floor. “This is going to confuse the shit out of Winter,” he warned, bundling the comforter in his arms.

Steve started to follow, then realized he was still wet from the shower. “I’ll catch up. Let me dry off,” he said, ducking back into the still-warm bathroom. He listened to Winter’s excited scrabbling and guessed that was the confusion Bucky had mentioned. Hopefully the dog’s antics would help Bucky relax even more.

Quickly, Steve toweled off, then closed the bathroom door. He used the toilet and went to wash his hands, glancing quickly at the medicine cabinet tucked into the wall beside the huge mirror. Guilt nearly made him leave without looking, but he needed information.

He opened the medicine cabinet just enough to peek in. The shelves were nearly empty, except for band-aids, elastic bandages, and the usual sort of antibiotic creams used on cuts. There were two prescription bottles — one was for _Winter, Canine_ , that was empty; the other was a prescription for thirty Xanax, dated to last summer, with four refills left.

That was something of a relief, if he was still on his first refill of a month’s supply after almost a year. Of course, it meant that while he wasn’t apparently abusing them, he also wasn’t _taking_ them. And even in Steve’s short time at the VA, he’d learned that refusing medication could be almost as bad as taking too much. At least Steve knew he had _something_ if things got really rough.

He walked out into the main room and all the way round to the corner with the couch and TV, to find Bucky in a nest of blankets, with Winter plopped right on top, getting a belly rub.

“Any room for me in there?”

Bucky had to lift Winter’s head to move the blankets invitingly out of the way. When Steve settled down, Bucky threw the blanket over him — just in time. Winter twisted around to crawl across both their laps, then flopped down.

“Told you. Confused,” Bucky said, offering Steve the remote. “If you lose circulation, just push him off.”

Steve waved off the remote. “You choose. I’m not picky. I really just want you to give me a head rub.”

“Not happening with you over there. Winter, down,” Bucky ordered, and the dog half-fell down the blankets covering their legs. After opening Netflix and starting the first show that came up on the screen, Bucky said, “Here, lie down so I can reach.”

Steve stretched out with his head in Bucky’s lap. “I would have said ‘yes, sir,’ but now I see how you treat your subordinates.”

“You’re the officer, Cap,” Bucky teased, combing the fingers of his right hand through Steve’s hair, scratching lightly over his scalp. “You play nice, while I do the real work. In fact, don’t _do_ anything. Just lie there and look pretty.”


	15. Chapter 15

It was bright. Oddly bright. Steve tried to open his eyes, but the glare hurt, and he turned away from the pain. Shielding his eyes, he sat up, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows. All of Midtown was laid before him, streets still in shadow, skyscrapers reflecting the sunlight directly onto the couch like a spotlight. It had to be about six a.m.

He had Bucky’s blanket, but no Bucky. Winter had given up crushing his feet, too. He didn’t really remember falling asleep — just Bucky’s slow, gentle massage. Steve had felt secure, cared for, which was the best sleep aid ever. After having fallen asleep like that, waking up alone didn’t feel so bad.

Hopefully Bucky was still asleep. Steve’s clothes were in Bucky’s bathroom, but nudity didn’t really bother Steve. Not wanting to wake Bucky, he went to use the small bathroom off the foyer instead, and then retreated to the kitchen to search out coffee options.

Bucky had one of those coffee pod machines that Sam was considering buying for the office, but no pods. Instead, he apparently used a sleek steel drip machine with a vacuum-sealed carafe instead of a glass pot. It had a hopper of beans built in and almost as many buttons as the TV remote control. Taking a guess that Bucky liked to make his life convenient, Steve pressed the power button. The machine whirred to life as beans rattled into a grinding chamber.

As he waited for the coffee to brew, he sat down at the dining room table and woke up the laptop. The worksheets were still open on the screen. Scanning down both of them at once helped assess where they lined up — and gave Steve a clearer picture of how rarely Bucky had actually acted on a lot of his desires. He’d checked ‘interested’ a lot more often than ‘have done, want to do again’.

Steve’s eye passed over ‘shower/hot tub/pool sex’ and caught on Bucky’s ‘yes,’ and it made him wince. What a hot-headed fool he’d been last night, getting riled about Brock when Bucky had clearly both wanted and needed an intimate moment in the shower after safewording. Steve hadn’t made that big a misstep in a long time. It made his skin crawl, and he resolved to not let Brock get to him as much anymore. It was hard, though, because Bucky was so nonchalant about it. That was what made Steve so indignant — and he could tell it wasn’t a front Bucky was putting up. He really just didn’t understand the non-consensual power games at play, even though he was decidedly ‘not interested’ in consent games.

Relationships were never easy, especially with power games involved, even when those power games were restricted to the bedroom, as last night demonstrated. And Bucky’s past with Brock was apparently far more complex than it seemed on the surface. Steve would just have to tread carefully until he understood the politics between them.

Sighing, Steve closed the laptop and went to nose around in the cabinets. The kitchen was fully stocked with dishes and appliances, but with the exception of the microwave and toaster oven, everything looked as if it were never used. The black ceramic dishware was stylish and devoid of personality, like the rest of the apartment. As he filled two mugs, Steve thought about how his collection of novelty mugs were the polar opposite of Bucky’s and yet somehow they’d probably all work side-by-side — and he nearly spilled milk all over the counter when he realized he was thinking of _this_ as a relationship.

He’d had doms for years without ever considering their dynamic a _relationship_. Why think of Bucky that way? They still barely knew each other. They’d really only spent two nights together.

He’d have to figure it out later, when he was alone. For now, he pushed the thoughts away and took the mugs to Bucky’s bedroom.

Bucky was asleep on the near side of the bed, back to the door, his metal arm above the sheet. Winter was next to him, head resting on Bucky’s pillow. Winter was whining, ears flat to his head. It took Steve a moment to hear Bucky’s hitched breath and see the sharp, almost violent way his body twitched, as if caught in the grip of a nightmare.

Quietly, Steve crossed the room and put the mugs on the nightstand. He reached out tentatively, wondering if he could gentle Bucky out of it without waking him or if he’d snap awake. After weighing his options for a moment, he touched the cool, smooth surface of Bucky’s forearm.

Bucky jerked away, thrashing hard enough that Winter leaped out of the bed with another sharp whine. Startled, Steve pulled back just in time to miss a clumsy backhand that seemed more reactive than aimed at hurting him. When Bucky’s arm hit the bed instead, he let out a pained cry that made Steve’s heart crack.

He didn’t think. He grabbed hold of the cybernetic arm and pressed it into the bed, straddling Bucky’s hips to pin the other arm as well. Bucky shoved at Steve, but only with his right hand; the left was a dead weight against the mattress, moving only as Bucky’s spine arched. Steve panicked, thinking something had gone wrong with the circuitry.

“Bucky, baby, it’s okay,” Steve said. Bucky’s eyes flickered open. Closed. He thrashed again, and Steve fought to keep Bucky’s right arm pinned. “It’s Steve. Wake up.”

With a rough inhale, Bucky opened his eyes, and this time, they stayed open. His left hand clenched, and he gave a full-body shudder, before whispering, “What? Steve?”

“Hey, yeah. I’m right here. You okay?” Steve shifted to create more contact between their bodies, hoping to ground Bucky with his weight. If only he’d pulled the sheets out of the way first, to give him skin-to-skin contact.

After a couple of deep breaths, Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Fuck. Winter?”

The dog was on the bed in a heartbeat, licking at Bucky’s face — and Steve’s, which Steve figured meant he’d been accepted. Bucky laughed faintly and turned his face away, and Steve moved to get between Bucky and Winter. The dog immediately laid down, pressed up against Steve’s back.

Bucky rolled onto his side to face Steve, asking, “Sorry. Did I wake you? Weren’t you on the couch?”

“I was, but I woke up early and made coffee. When I came in, you were having a nightmare.” Steve touched Bucky’s sternum and could feel his heart still racing. “You want to tell me about it?”

“Don’t remember,” Bucky said with a shrug that was a little too casual to be real. He pushed up on his right elbow to look over Steve at Winter. “Come on, Winter. Off the bed. Stop bugging Steve.” Winter actually let out a dramatic sigh before he got up and jumped off the bed. Bucky grinned down at Steve and asked, “How about I take you out to breakfast? It’s that or leftovers from last night.”

It was an obvious attempt at deflection. Mildly, Steve asked, “Have coffee with me first?”

“Bathroom first.” Bucky turned away and stretched as he stood up. His left arm seemed to be working fine now, but Steve wanted to check.

“Does your arm still hurt?”

“Huh?” Bucky frowned over his shoulder, then looked down at his right arm. His frown turned into a wry smile as he said, “Oh. You’ll have to do a hell of a lot more than that to actually hurt me. Don’t worry about it, babe.”

Gently, Steve said, “The other one, Buck.”

A flicker of awareness showed in the way Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “No pain sensors. It’s not wired like that.” Deliberately, he changed the subject, saying, “If you need a toothbrush or something, I think there’s stuff in the bathroom off the weight room. It was supposed to be a second bedroom.”

As Bucky walked away, Steve flopped back onto a pillow, lost as to what that meant. Bucky had clearly been in pain while in his dream. Was the connection between the arm and his body acting up? There was no way he was going to figure it out if Bucky was going to shut him out, even going so far as closing the bathroom door completely for the first time. He hadn’t heard it lock, but the closed door spoke volumes. Every other door in the apartment was at least cracked open.

Winter came over to the bed and rested his head on the mattress, giving Steve his best pathetic, ignored puppy look. Steve was surprised to see Bucky had distanced himself from Winter, too. That worried him even more.

 

~~~

 

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Bucky went through the motions of waking up, but all he could think was that Steve had walked in on one of his fucking nightmares. Worse, Bucky had no idea _which_ nightmare it had been. There were a few, all of them half-remembered in snatches. His arm. The bullet that had taken out his shoulder. The war. His parents dying.

He was a fucking mess, and the last thing he needed was to inflict that on Steve.

He wanted to get in the shower, but he’d offered breakfast. He settled for shoving his head under the sink faucet, water turned all the way to cold. That distanced the nightmare even more, giving Bucky enough mental space to think.

Play it cool. Take Steve out, have fun, maybe replace his shirt — again. That brought a faint grin to Bucky’s face. Hell, maybe he could keep Steve around all day, though not for another overnight stay. Two nightmares in a row would drive even the nicest guy away. Unlike Brock, Steve had no incentive to stick around once he realized just how messed up Bucky really was.

When he went back out into the bedroom, he found Steve sprawled across the bed and rubbing Winter’s belly, telling him he was a good boy. Bucky leaned against the doorway, watching them, and finally said, “You’re subverting my dog, Captain. Isn’t that against the articles of war or something?”

Steve looked up and smiled, taking in the full length of Bucky’s body. “I’m rewarding a soldier for his exemplary service. Care to join me?”

Bucky let himself enjoy the view just as much. Steve was completely, beautifully naked. “When I was a kid, I’d get yelled at for going out to play before breakfast. Aren’t I supposed to feed you first?”

Steve sat up, moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and reached out his hand. “You’re _supposed_ to come here and drink the coffee I made you before it gets cold.”

“If you insist,” Bucky said, though he really would’ve felt more comfortable going out. The reality of Manhattan was the best thing he’d discovered so far for grounding himself after a nightmare, even if he was usually too messed up to leave the apartment. It was a contradiction he had yet to solve.

He crossed to the bed and ignored the coffee to straddle Steve’s lap instead, taking Steve’s hand long enough to wrap it around his back. Then he got his arms around Steve’s shoulders and kissed him. Despite how Steve was spoiling Winter, he must’ve found a spare toothbrush in the time Bucky had been in the bathroom, since the kiss tasted of mint.

“You didn’t have to make coffee, you know,” he said when he leaned back enough to meet Steve’s eyes.

“I don’t _have_ to do anything, Buck.” Steve rubbed both his hands up and down Bucky’s back. “But I tend to wake up early, and it’s normal morning routine for me.”

“Mine’s usually taking Winter out to a coffee shop for breakfast. He has his favorites,” Bucky said, looking over at Winter, who’d slithered up next to them. Winter wagged his tail in response. “Thanks for not freaking out about him getting up on the bed.”

Steve grinned at them both. “I feel honored that he hasn’t freaked out too much about _me_ being on _his_ bed.” As Bucky laughed — because that was the absolute truth — Steve looked over at Winter. “I mean, it’s always a smart move to get on the good side of your lover’s friends, right?” Steve’s grin was casual and unselfconscious.

 _Lovers_. Bucky couldn’t remember ever thinking of someone that way. Maybe Brock, sort of, right after the hospital, but there had never been a real connection between them. Not like it was with Steve.

His instinct was to back off. To get up and get dressed and take Steve somewhere nice for breakfast, and then maybe drag him to a park to play with Winter or something.

Instead, he asked, “Is that what this is? Us, I mean?”

Steve looked back from scratching Winter’s ear, and his face shifted from distracted to intent. He placed his hands lightly on Bucky’s hips and watched Bucky’s face as he spoke. “I wasn’t trying to put a label on it. All I know is I want it to continue. And ‘lovers’ can mean a lot of things. What did you hear when I said it?”

The question caught Bucky completely off-guard. He sat back, thinking this conversation needed distance — maybe pants, too — and said, “It’s nothing. I didn’t mean it had to be — No pressure or anything.”

Steve exhaled through his nose and watched his thumbs rub back and forth over Bucky’s hips. “I’m sort of immune to pressure, love.” He looked back up at Bucky with a faint smile on his lips. “And I only allow things in my life that I really want.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at that. “You’re kinda nuts, then,” he said, settling more comfortably across Steve’s lap. “And that means a whole lot of dog fur, ’cause in this weather, Winter needs a brushing once a week.”

Steve grinned and tilted his face up towards Bucky’s. “If that’s the price of hanging out with you guys, then bring it on. I’m ready.”

“You’re gonna be like that, _you_ get to give him a bath next time,” Bucky threatened. Only when the words were out did he realize he really was _comfortable_ with Steve handling Winter. Last night, he’d been too scrambled to think about Steve walking Winter.

“We could walk him and Maggie by an opened fire hydrant...” Steve stopped speaking in favor of brushing his lips along Bucky’s jaw, then down his neck.

“ _Fuck_ , Steve...” He had to catch his breath at the feel of Steve’s teeth against his collarbone, far enough away from the scarring that the nerve endings were all biological.

“Too close to your shoulder?”

“No, it always feels a little different on that side. Doesn’t it bug you?”

“What?”

“Scars.”

Steve shook his head. “They look well healed, but I don’t want it to feel weird or anything.”

“There’s a little dead zone under the artificial skin, but that’s it.” He reached down to tug Steve’s arm up his back a bit. “Feel the shoulderblade?”

Steve’s hand moved up his back and pressed against the skin over his shoulderblade, at the very edge of the metal plates covering the cybernetics. “Yeah?”

“It’s metal. So’s the collarbone and the ribs on top. They needed a strong anchor for the shoulder reconstruction.”

“Wait, I just bit down on metal?” he asked, pulling back to look up at Bucky, eyes wide.

Bucky’s grin was more confident than he felt. He hadn’t meant to reveal the extent of his surgery this early, but Steve had been so accepting about everything else. “Yeah.”

Steve leaned in again, pressing his lips to Bucky’s right collarbone, then to the left. “No wonder it feels different to you,” he said, and kissed again, lingering this time. “Tell me if it ever hurts, okay?”

“I told you, no pain sensors in the arm,” Bucky reassured him. “Besides, I’m tough. You won’t break me.”

Steve continued to press kisses along his collarbone until he reached metal. “Yeah, but what about the nerves where it connects to you?”

“I don’t feel anything here,” Bucky said, taking Steve’s hand. He guided Steve’s fingers to run over the thin line of artificial skin fused to the edge of the plates. “The docs said that’s to keep the scar tissue from tearing if I move too fast. Everything else” — he moved Steve’s hand onto the metal — “just registers pressure and a little buzz from strong electric fields, as long as it’s all calibrated right.”

“And if it’s not calibrated right?” Steve gripped Bucky’s shoulder, pressing hard enough that the plates flexed.

Bucky shrugged against Steve’s hand, closing his eyes for a moment to banish the memory. He was tempted to blow it off altogether, but he didn’t want to outright lie to Steve. “It gets bad. It’s wired right into my brain. If the circuits get fucked up or the sensitivity is turned too high, it’s —” He cut off, thinking there was no word adequate to describe it. It wasn’t just electricity. It was like liquid fire slithering through his brain, making _everything_ hurt.

Steve slid his hand down Bucky’s arm to take hold of his hand and raise it to his lips. The touch was gentle, fingers curled around Bucky’s hand, sending a reassuring flood of signals into his brain. Steve breathed his words across the bent knuckles. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry you went through that. It sounds like a nightmare.”

Bucky’s breath left him in a short, sharp huff. He climbed off Steve’s lap and sat heavily on the edge of the mattress next to him. With his right hand, he pushed his hair back out of his face. Steve still held the left, though his touch was feather-light now, as if he thought Bucky would pull away.

“It took months for them to get it all right,” he said as Winter came right up to lean against their knees. Bucky ruffled his fur and closed his eyes.

“Jesus, that’s awful.” Steve leaned in to kiss the rounded edge of his metal shoulder. “I’m so glad you made it through that.”

“Almost didn’t,” Bucky muttered, though he shut his mouth before he could be tempted to say he’d only made it through because of Brock. Instead, he took a deep breath before saying, “It’s fine now, though. Hasn’t acted up in months.”

Steve reached up with his free hand to gently turn Bucky’s face to him, and kissed him, soft and slow, on the lips. “What do you need, babe? Coffee? Breakfast? My mouth on you? Whatever you like.”

Something about Steve’s words, or maybe his voice, made Bucky relax into his touch. He closed his eyes and kissed Steve’s hand. “Let’s take Winter o-u-t,” he said, spelling it, even though Winter was probably smart enough to know what that meant. Sure enough, Bucky heard Winter’s tail wagging at double-time. He smiled against Steve’s hand before opening his eyes. “Busted.”

His gaze met bright, amused eyes, and a mouth that was trying not to smile. “That dog is scary smart, Buck. Next time I need an office assistant, I’ll expect his resume on my desk.”

Bucky laughed and squeezed Steve’s hand carefully. “Winter. Go get clothes,” he ordered, and the dog ran off, not to the closet, but to the foot of the bed. Bucky frowned in confusion — until Winter jumped up onto the bed, holding Steve’s ripped shirt in his mouth.

It was Steve’s turn to laugh. “I can’t tell if I should take offense to that or not. Winter, I can’t go out in this.”

“That’s what I get for trusting the fashion decisions to the dog.” Bucky took the shirt and threw it across the room. Mistaking it for a game of fetch, Winter charged after it. Bucky got up, giving Steve’s hand a tug to get him to stand as he said, “Come on. You can borrow a shirt. Walk, breakfast, and then I’ll buy you more clothes so I can ruin them, too. Sound okay?”

Steve pulled Bucky in for one more kiss before letting go his hand. The smile on his lips helped Bucky push aside the last remnants of tension, and Bucky smiled back as Steve said, “Yes, sir.”


	16. Chapter 16

Steve was _positive_ that Bucky had a bigger T-shirt somewhere in his closet, but one look at Bucky’s avaricious, appreciative expression was all it had taken to silence Steve’s objections. Bucky was in a long-sleeved shirt, cuffs buttoned to hide his arms, but he made up for that by taking possessive hold of Steve’s right hand with his left, again putting Winter on his right. For the entire elevator ride to the lobby, the leash was looped around Bucky’s wrist so Bucky could casually pet Steve’s forearm.

“I think I lied,” Bucky said as the elevator slowed. “I like taking you out dressed like this, as long as it’s _me_ you’re coming home with. Fuck it. Let other people look at what they can’t have.”

That deep, submissive part of Steve purred at Bucky’s possessiveness, even though he was pretty sure Bucky was unaware of the dominance inherent in what he’d just said. He wondered if it was worth bringing up at some point, and if Bucky would ever get to the place where he’d want Steve to wear something to show possession. He’d done a collar before, but never full-time. Not that he wanted one or even knew where this dynamic — _not_ relationship — was going, but there it was. Something to think about. In the future. If they had one.

Flustered enough to not trust a verbal response, Steve leaned in to kiss Bucky’s temple, just as the elevator doors opened. Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand carefully — he was always careful with his left hand, Steve had noticed — and headed out into the lobby, calling a cheerful, “Morning,” to the attendant at the desk.

Once they were outside, Winter took the lead, walking with quick, light steps, ears and tail held high, pausing only at corners until they reached a nearby park. There, Bucky slacked up on the leash and released Steve’s hand, while Winter took care of business. They crossed the park — obviously a regular stop on their morning walks — and Bucky threw away the plastic bags he’d collected.

Two blocks down, they stopped at a narrow cafe with a couple of tables out front. “Quick, here,” Bucky said, pushing Winter’s leash into Steve’s hand as a table opened up. “Grab the table. What do you want for breakfast?”

Steve had no idea of the place’s menu, which was chalked up on boards behind the counter, but there wasn’t a breakfast food out there that he didn’t like, and he rarely ate a full meal before lunchtime. Also, he remembered dinner last night, and how deftly Bucky ordered for them both from a menu that he was familiar with. It felt like giving a little gift to simply say, “I’m really not picky, and you know the menu. I trust you.”

Bucky grinned, tossed his sunglasses down on the table, and said, “You got it,” before he headed inside. Winter took one step before he hesitated, as if realizing Steve had his leash. Then he sat down and grinned up at Steve.

Sitting in the chair beside Winter so he could scratch his neck, Steve leaned back and basked in the yellow morning light, letting the conversations and traffic noises waft past him without snagging on his consciousness. He’d forgotten what subbing with some regularity did for his sense of calm.

Bucky returned a few minutes later, carrying a tray with two plates, two mugs, and a paper takeout box. The takeout box went on the ground for Winter, who was apparently having scrambled eggs, a bagel, and what looked like turkey bacon for breakfast. “I figured you can’t go wrong with breakfast sandwiches,” Bucky told Steve as he sat down on Winter’s other side.

Each of their plates held simple egg, tomato, cheese, and bacon bagels, with mixed fruit off to the side. The coffee was nothing exotic — black and rich, with a little pitcher of milk and a couple of packets of sugar. “I couldn’t have ordered better myself.”

“Winter’s favorite place,” Bucky said, pressing his leg against Steve’s under the table. “He can’t have regular bacon — makes his skin break out — but he doesn’t like most turkey bacon. Hell if I know how he can tell the difference.”

“Because your dog is smarter than most ten-year-olds.” Steve nibbled the egg and cheese that was hanging over the edge of the bagel. It was some smoky, aged cheese that took the sandwich from good to delicious. “And he clearly has better taste than most of them, too.”

“Yeah, he’s —” Bucky cut off, frowning past Steve, eyes shifting as if he were tracking a moving target. Steve turned and saw a man walking towards them, dressed in a casual button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up, and faded blue jeans. He had sunglasses on, so Steve couldn’t be a hundred percent sure, but he suspected it was Brock.

A spike of adrenaline hit his system, and he had to concentrate on his hands as he set down his sandwich so the rush didn’t take him over. He looked back at Bucky, who was still slouched back in his seat, though he’d put down his sandwich in favor of resting his fingertips on the handle of his mug — treating it as a weapon, Steve realized.

Staring in Brock’s direction, Bucky raised an eyebrow and inched the mug a little closer, so he could get his fingers through the handle. Steve frowned and planted his feet firmly beneath himself as Brock walked over to the table.

“Morning,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice that might have been pleasant, if not for what Steve knew of his personality.

“You’re still in New York,” Bucky answered flatly.

With those sunglasses on, it was impossible to tell where Brock was looking, but Steve got the feeling that it was in his direction. “Heading back to DC later today,” Brock said. “I _was_ going to ask if you wanted to come with me, see your sisters...”

“Are you _that fucking stupid?_ ” Bucky asked sharply.

Brock sighed. “Can we discuss this alone?”

Bucky looked at Steve, and for a heartbeat, Steve thought it was a silent request that he leave and give them some privacy. But then, with barely a glance in Brock’s direction, Bucky said, “Go the fuck away, Brock.”

“We need to talk,” Brock insisted, an edge of steel creeping into his voice.

“The man told you to leave.” Steve felt tiny licks of flame up his neck from his collar, and his scalp tingled. He realized his hand was gripping the table and he was leaning forward, ready to stand if necessary.

This time, Brock made it obvious that he glanced in Steve’s direction, though he addressed his words to Bucky: “Since when do you let last night’s fuck do the fighting for you?”

Steve’s hand clenched harder on the table, and the only thing that gave him enough strength to keep still was Bucky’s leg pressing a little harder into his.

Bucky bared his teeth in a vicious grin. “Since I started fucking someone I can actually trust,” he said, moving his hand across the table to touch his fingertips to Steve’s. The contact syphoned off some of the energy crackling across Steve’s skin, and the word _trust_ brought warmth into his chest that helped him breathe again.

“Trust?” Brock asked, throwing another look Steve’s way. “Who stayed with you for —”

“I know what you did,” Bucky interrupted. “Hell, I’m even grateful — which is the only reason you’re still fucking breathing.”

Brock leaned down, resting a hand on the table. “You can’t turn your back on your family.”

Bucky drew back, glancing down at Brock’s hand. It looked outwardly casual, but Steve was aware of how Bucky had gone tense. Winter, too, picked up on it, and tried to shove himself under the table to get closer to Bucky, making their plates rattle.

_Shit._

_Enough._

Steve found himself standing, close enough to make Brock lean back slightly, and he heard his voice come out low and hard. “Last time I checked, you weren’t actually family.”

Steve was two inches taller and outweighed Brock by a good bit — not that Brock was openly intimidated. He sneered up at Steve, asking, “And who the fuck —”

“Brock,” Bucky interrupted, shoving his chair back. The scrape of metal legs on concrete drew more attention, and Steve was conscious that people were staring at them. “One more fucking word, and we’ll see how useful you are to my uncle if you can’t ever walk again.”

Brock shot Bucky a quick frown. “Bucky, come on,” he said, striving for a reasonable tone.

“You think I’ll pick you over my boyfriend? Go ahead,” Bucky challenged. “Try me.”

_Boyfriend,_ Steve thought, heart slamming into his ribs. His razor sharp focus on Brock wavered, and he could hear Bucky lean back in his chair. But he waited another couple seconds, unmoving, unblinking, until Brock shifted his weight. Then Steve sat back down and turned to face Bucky.

Calmly, Bucky picked up his coffee, saying, “I don’t want to see you again, Brock. Tell my uncle if he has something to say about that, he can email me. I’ll get back to him eventually.”

Brock let out a frustrated exhale. For a moment, Steve thought he was going to protest, but Bucky looked up at him, and he kept his mouth shut as he turned and walked off. Bucky watched, still holding the coffee cup like a weapon. He only put it down long after Brock was out of sight.

“Fuck,” he said quietly, raking his hair back out of his face with his right hand. “I’m sorry about that. I should’ve figured he’d be here.”

Steve was buzzing, both from adrenaline and how Bucky spoke of him to Brock. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

“I’ll talk to my uncle about him,” Bucky said, looking down at his plate. He dropped his right hand down to scratch at Winter’s fur. “If he comes anywhere near you, call the cops. I don’t think he will, but... _Fuck._ ”

“Don’t worry about me, darling. You okay?” Steve reached out to grab hold of Bucky’s left hand, then wondered if his own heartbeat was too riotous to help any. He scooted his chair around the small table so he could put his hand on Bucky’s knee as well.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, though it felt like a lie, at least in part. He was taking slow, deep breaths, eyes scanning the area every few seconds, as if searching for threats. “Fuck. I was ready to kill him. If he’d fucking _touched_ you...”

“Heh. My thoughts exactly, about you.” Steve leaned in to kiss Bucky quickly on the temple, wondering how to bring him back.

“I mean it.” Bucky took a deep breath and met Steve’s eyes, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “I don’t _think_ he’s stupid enough to try anything, but he comes near you, you get somewhere safe, call the cops, then call me.”

Steve had an odd moment of remembering making a joke about putting a hit out on Brock, and then dizzyingly realized it had happened twelve hours ago. “I don’t like bullies. If he comes near me, I’ll take care of it, then call an ambulance.”

“Okay...” Bucky looked down at their joined hands and worried his lip between his teeth for a moment. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine, but... I’d feel better if I knew you could handle yourself. I fought Brock plenty of times as part of my physical therapy. I know his tricks.”

“What, you want to spar with me?” Steve couldn’t tell if that was a good idea or not.

Bucky’s grin was barely a shadow of what it usually was, but the fact that it was there at all gave Steve hope the morning wasn’t ruined. “Unless you’d end up reporting me for insubordination, Captain.”

“Only if you fight dirty, Sergeant.”

Bucky pulled his hand free so he could touch Steve’s face. The metal was body warm. “I will, but only because I want you safe,” he said quietly.

Steve turned his head to kiss Bucky’s palm, luxuriating in the feeling of being cared for. “Thank you, love. But let’s finish our breakfast first, huh?”

 

~~~

 

Despite the sense that Brock might _finally_ be gone, Bucky was still on edge all through breakfast. The quiet, peaceful morning was... not ruined, but disrupted. After they finished their meal, Bucky led Steve back to the apartment, rather than heading uptown.

Steve, thank God, said nothing about the change in plans.

Bucky was able to relax a little when he saw the lobby was empty, though he didn’t think Brock would be stupid enough to lurk there — not this soon, at any rate. He started for the elevator, and then stopped, looking back towards the manager’s desk. He really did need to review his authorized guest list, and it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to change the locks.

“You have your ID on you?” he asked, glancing at Steve.

Steve’s confused frown only showed for a moment before he was reaching into his back pocket. “Yeah, of course. Why?” He fished out his wallet and handed it over without hesitation.

Bucky stared at it. Digital camo with flaps that tucked in to close it, a plastic ID pocket on the outside, thick enough to be used as a weapon. “So, yeah. You miss the Army, don’t you?” he asked, amused, and put a new wallet on his mental shopping list along with shirts. He slid Steve’s driver’s license out of the ID pocket — and God, who actually had a driver’s license picture that looked _that good?_

“I... just never got a new one, I guess.” He took his wallet back and nudged Bucky’s arm. “Checking my birth date or something?”

“Identity theft. It’s the in thing these days,” Bucky said, carrying the card over to the manager’s desk. He took out his own much less flattering license and keycard, then slid all three across, saying, “I need to update my guest authorization and re-key the door.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t say anything, just pressed his hand to the small of Bucky’s back and leaned his head down to kiss Bucky’s shoulder. Then he crouched down to scratch Winter’s shoulders while Bucky digitally signed the authorization. The whole thing took ten minutes, and when he returned Steve’s ID, he also handed over a second keycard.

And only then did the anxiety hit. Adding Steve to the approved list meant that management wouldn’t throw him out for hanging around in the building’s public area. The second keycard was standard any time the locks were changed. But handing over the spare... It had just felt _natural_.

But was it too soon? Too much pressure on Steve?

“I’ll have to teach Winter to okay you being there, but it shouldn’t be a problem,” Bucky said, falling back on a safe subject. He nudged Winter into moving towards the elevator, thinking he probably should’ve at least _asked_ if Steve wanted a key.

Steve fell into step with him, but was quiet until they were inside the elevator. “Thanks, but you know you don’t have to give me this. I’m glad you took that security measure, but...”

_Fuck._

“Either way,” Bucky said as casually as he could manage. He pressed the button for the ninth floor, glancing over at Steve, wondering if he was going to give the card back. “It’s easy to change the locks. No waiting for a locksmith or something.”

Steve smiled wanly. “Then I’ll try not to get on your bad side so I don’t wake up one day to find this” — he indicated the keycard before sliding it into his back pocket — “doesn’t work anymore.” He grabbed hold of Bucky’s hand and squeezed it.

That fixed some of the anxiety, though not all of it. This _was_ too soon. Steve just wasn’t calling him on it.  Bucky glanced at the floor display, thinking maybe they should go out after all. There was less chance that there would be an awkward _talk_ if they were in public.

“If —” He had to take another breath. “If you do show up, don’t leave the foyer. Call Winter. If he doesn’t come, either I’m not home or something’s wrong.”

“Okay...” Steve turned so he was facing Bucky and looked at him with concerned lines between his eyebrows. “Is that what this is about? Safety? That’s fine; whatever you need. I just...” He dragged his hand down Bucky’s arm from shoulder to hand, but didn’t hold on after one quick squeeze.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said sharply. The elevator slowed, and Bucky dug his fingers into Winter’s fur.

“All right. That’s fine. I don’t need this to mean anything if you don’t want it to.” Steve’s voice was gentle. Calm. Utterly _infuriating_. How the hell could he be so _relaxed_ about this?

As soon as the doors opened, Bucky headed out of the elevator. He swiped his card, unclipped Winter’s leash, and said, “Security check.” But instead of leaning against the wall — or against Steve — he stayed in the doorway, listening as Winter ran from room to room, checking for any sign of intruders.

Steve came slowly up behind Bucky and rested his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s been a long morning. What do you need, baby?” He took hold of Bucky’s left hand and turned his head so his nose brushed Bucky’s neck.

_Nothing,_ Bucky thought. That was a simple answer. Tell Steve it was nothing, then find an excuse to leave. Maybe go to a store that wouldn’t let Winter in. Make this about leaving Winter at home instead of... whatever the keycard meant.

But it wasn’t nothing.

Brock had never been particularly welcome company here. Maybe before Bucky had moved from DC to New York, but not in _this_ apartment — not even when they’d fucked here. Steve, though... He fit here. He didn’t disrupt Bucky’s ability to relax and feel comfortable. He wasn’t an outsider, even though Bucky still didn’t know a damned thing about him.

And Winter liked him.

Even now, as Winter ran over to give his all-clear signal, he was looking at both of them, doggie grin fixed firmly in place, tail wagging.

“Go in,” Bucky said, shifting to the side to get out of the doorway. “Let Winter see you in there without me.”

Steve did as he was told, and Bucky pulled the door closed, locking himself out. Then he leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and tried to remember how to breathe.

 

~~~

 

When the door latched shut, Winter tipped his head just like dogs in commercials always did. Then, tail still thumping, he looked expectantly at Steve.

“Your guess is as good as mine, pal.”

Steve felt completely out of his depth. Bucky had been okay on the walk back to his building and had seemed totally in charge over the keycard business, and then everything had gone tense. And now he’d shut Steve in his apartment without him. Steve should probably just offer to go home. It had been a rough morning, from the nightmare to the confrontation at the cafe, and if Steve was feeling the need to regroup, he could only imagine what Bucky was going through. Especially because whenever Steve tried to get any idea, he felt like he’d run smack into a wall.

But, there was the keycard in his pocket. And, in an odd way, this interaction with Winter, was a show of trust. Or something. So, he sat down on the floor, looked at Winter, and said, “Wanna play ball?”

Winter smacked Steve in the face with his tail as he turned and ran off. He came tearing back into sight a moment later and shoved a slightly damp hedgehog against Steve’s body, almost hard enough to push him over. The hedgehog’s squeak was startlingly loud.

When he’d awakened yesterday morning he would never have imagined that twenty-four hours later he would be here: entertaining a too-smart dog on the floor of an excruciatingly expensive apartment while his something — _boyfriend?_ — did God-knew-what outside, but Steve was nothing if not adaptable. “Okay, sure. How do you play hedgehog?”

Apparently ‘hedgehog’ involved less throwing and more tugging, though the stuffed toy wasn’t built for proper tug-of-war. Winter was also incredibly strong, actually moving Steve a couple of inches across the floor and almost knocking him down again when the dog switched from pulling to pushing.

Then the locks disengaged, and Winter let go, shoving himself into Steve’s lap to get closer to the door as it swung carefully open. Steve earned himself a couple of casual licks on the side of his face and ear as Winter sat down on top of him, hedgehog forgotten.

“He likes you,” Bucky said, slipping in without opening the door too far. He let it close, but he stayed behind Steve.

Steve spared a moment to wonder if this... test, or whatever, wasn’t more important than the keycard, before he turned his head to smile up at Bucky. “Well, the feeling’s mutual.”

“He didn’t like Brock.”

_Oh._

_Right._

He wanted to get up and hug Bucky, but he had no idea whether that would help at this point. Instead, he let the focus stay on Winter, who was still in Steve’s lap, as he ruffled the pup’s neck fur and spoke to him approvingly. “I knew I could trust you to look out for our boy.”

“He didn’t like my physical therapists, either,” Bucky said, sounding a bit more relaxed. “I stopped going the next day, after he scared the crap out of them.”

“Huh. Should I worry about him being able to tell the difference between someone inflicting consensual pain versus non-consensual pain?” The moment the sentence left his mouth, Steve wasn’t sure he should have said it, so he didn’t look away from Winter to see Bucky’s reaction.

“That’s” — Bucky paused, and then Steve heard the soft _click_ of him throwing his keycard in the bowl with his car keys — “a good question. Get up.”

Steve’s heart gave one hard thump against his chest before he figured out how to breathe and untangled himself from Winter to do as he was told. Bucky turned so his back was to the empty wall on the hinge side of the door, directly opposite the foyer table and mirror.

“Come at me,” he said, shifting his stance a bit. “Right into the wall. Only if you put holes in it, I hope you know how to fix drywall.”

Steve’s mind raced, remembering their conversation about sparring, but he felt like this was a different thing. He had no idea if this was another test, or simply about gauging how rough they could be with each other. He didn’t want to hold back, for fear of offending Bucky, but metal elbows and drywall probably didn’t mix well. It took him only another moment of preparation before he launched himself at Bucky, shoulder solidly impacting with his chest.

Bucky made no move to defend. The breath rushed out of him from the impact as Steve shoved him against the wall at full-strength. As Steve let up to check Bucky’s face for signs that he’d been hurt, Winter let out a single sharp bark from where he sat, three feet away.

Tail wagging.

Bucky’s laugh came out more like a cough. “Yeah, okay,” he said, beckoning the dog. “I think we’re good.”

Steve grinned at Winter and then at Bucky. He was pretty sure he’d just been welcomed into the pack. “So, now what?” he asked as Winter nosed between them just enough to demand ear-scratches. He didn’t push his body in front of Steve like a barrier the way he had with Brock.

They both reached down to oblige Winter’s demands. Bucky slid his hand over Steve’s and glanced up, meeting Steve’s eyes through the fall of hair that swept down to cover his face.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said softly. “Never really done this before.”

Steve hooked the curtain of hair behind Bucky’s ear and leaned in close. "We'll take it slow, soldier. We've got time. I've got nowhere else to be."


	17. Chapter 17

“Isn’t there a rule about not coming home at three in the morning on a Saturday? Sunday? Whatever?” Sam asked from his bedroom doorway. He was blinking sleepily, but Steve knew he must have been sleeping lightly, if he’d woken up to the scratch of Steve’s key in the lock.

Steve instantly felt like an asshole. He’d remembered to check in with Sam on Friday when he realized he’d be spending the night at Bucky’s, but not once on Saturday had he given a thought to letting Sam know when he would finally make it home. “Hey, I’m sorry. Did I worry you? I should have texted I'd be...”

Maggie squeezed past Sam’s bare feet to rush at Steve. She jumped up, barking and bouncing in circles in her excitement, then tried to bite one of the desert tan straps hanging from the rucksack of new clothes that had survived Bucky’s attempts at creatively stripping Steve.

“Do I look like I need to know the details of your sex life? Boundaries, man. Boundaries,” Sam insisted, though he stayed where he was, grinning even more. “Speaking of, was it okay, or do I have to call my buddy with the F-16?”

Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly, thinking back through everything from Friday evening on. “It, ah... it was great and awful and confusing and difficult and perfect and mostly, yeah. It ended up feeling really good. So, no F-16 necessary.” When Maggie finally stopped jumping and was simply wiggling her whole back half at him, he bent down to scratch her ears. “Hey, Mags. Can you smell Winter on me?”

For a beagle, she was pretty good at imitating a cat. As soon as he crouched, she climbed up onto his knee to lick his face, tail wagging even more furiously.

“Difficult and confusing and awful ended in really good?” Sam asked, finally crossing the tiny living room. He didn’t rescue Steve; he just stood there, watching his dog ineffectively mauling Steve instead.

“Well, there was this whole thing with his ex that needed to get worked out, and he’s better at putting up defenses and blocking communication than North Korea, but there’s something that just really works between us. And his dog likes me.” Steve finally pushed Maggie off him and looked up, knowing the grin on his face was probably ridiculous, but aware that he couldn’t banish it.

“Do you like him ’cause you _like_ him, or ’cause you want to _fix_ him?”

That question brought Steve up short. He understood exactly where it came from, and he felt he owed Sam a momentary check-in to make sure he wouldn’t answer it without being certain. “Touche. But actually it’s that I like him too much to give up when it gets difficult.” He looked thoughtfully at Sam for a second, then continued. “Though I think it might do him good to talk to you in an official capacity at some point.”

“Okay.” Sam grinned down at Steve, adding, “Are you comfortable with not crossing that line in the office? I can refer him to one of the guys in Manhattan, if you’d be better with that.”

“I can be professional around that. Also, I don’t think I trust him with anyone but you. Besides, he gets skittish enough I doubt he’d go somewhere I wasn’t.”

“This mean I get to experiment with that couples counseling internet course I’ve been taking? You don’t mind being a guinea pig, do you?”

“Heh. Do the assessment on Bucky alone first, Sam. Then he can decide if he wants to involve me.”

“Damn. Here I was hoping I could use you two for my final paper.” Sam ruffled Steve’s hair before Steve could get out of the way. “You woke Maggie; you get to walk her. Try not to slam the door when you come back in,” he said, heading back to his bedroom.

“Yeah, sure. Sorry. But Sam, if you really need to work with a couple, I’ll ask him.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Sam stopped in the bedroom doorway to grin at Steve again. “You’re not supposed to use your best friend as a lab rat. They covered that on day one, I think.”

Steve grinned back. “Wanna bring Maggie by Howling Commandos on Monday and meet him, at least? With best friend status comes veto power, after all.”

“Yeah. I think I’d like that. _If_ you let me sleep in tomorrow,” he added sternly. “Getting my ass out of bed at three in the damn morning. You and your damned love life...” The closed door muffled his complaints.

Steve could hear the genuine affection that belied any grumpiness, and knew that Sam was happy for him. And, it seemed, flattered that Steve wanted him to give his approval of Bucky. And with the prospect of Maggie meeting Winter, Monday was shaping up to be an interesting day.

 

~~~

 

Of course, Monday was a slow work day, so there was nothing to distract Steve from anticipating seeing Bucky after close. But it wasn’t just that. Steve’s nervousness came from having his worlds collide when Bucky and Sam finally met. Because even if Darcy had already set eyes on him at least, to Sam he was still a phantom. And though Steve had mentioned bringing Sam and Maggie over to talk about training her, he’d decided not to bill it as a ‘meet the roommate’ situation to Bucky. Which meant he’d talked himself into worrying that the potential for awkwardness was high.

Still, he couldn’t help being a bit excited as five o’clock rolled around and he and Sam started to close up shop. Darcy had been slaving away on the mailing list and was happy to give up the moment Steve came out front to turn down the blinds.

“Okay, it’s two minutes after five, so what gives?” Darcy demanded, locking her computer.

Steve started guiltily, but continued with his task. “What do you mean? We close at five.”

“Dude, you’ve been buzzing like you had a quad espresso, only I saw your lunch. There wasn’t enough caffeine to resurrect a dying rat. So?” She stood and slung her rucksack over her shoulder. “Spill. Or else.”

She was way too perceptive for her own good, Steve decided. “It’s nothing. Sam and I are just going to see about Maggie becoming a therapy dog.”

“Oh, how can you stand the excitement,” she deadpanned, sharp eyes glittering behind her glasses. “Uh huh. So, maybe I should come supervise. You know. So you don’t have a heart attack from the thrills.”

Steve smiled at her in spite of himself. “I mean, Clint might be there, so I won’t tell you no —”

“Sold,” she interrupted. “Two blond hotties, dogs, and the guy I’m _not_ allowed to hit on, because he’s the one who hired me,” she said, throwing a grin Sam’s way. “Note, Sam. I’m _not_ hitting on you in front of the boss. I want points for that.”

“And the worst part is, that makes absolute sense,” Sam agreed, giving Steve a resigned smile. Once Maggie was in the foyer, Sam closed the office door. “You ready?”

Darcy claimed Steve’s arm with a grip like steel. “I’m coming with, to keep Steve from keeling over. He’s awfully skittish, you know.”

Steve smiled sheepishly at Sam. “I’m fine. This is going to be fun. Mags will love it there.”

Darcy eyed Maggie, then Sam. “If you two are posing for a calendar, I reserve the right for after-work-hours hitting-on. Just putting that out there.”

“Yep. Fun,” Sam said, struggling not to laugh. He set the alarm, then led them out the door and went to the curb so Maggie could sniff around. “Just how many lattes did you feed her today, Steve?”

“It wasn’t my turn to buy, and I was antsy enough, so I didn’t keep an eye on her caffeine intake today.” He nudged Darcy gently with the elbow she was holding. “Though maybe we should start instituting a limit.”

“I can build a catapult out of four pencils and two rubber bands,” she threatened, though she let go of Steve long enough for him to lock the office door. “I dated an engineer while in undergrad. So really, what _are_ we doing?”

Steve didn’t look away from the door as he spoke. “I told you, we are —”

“Introducing Maggie to the dogs across the street,” Sam interrupted gently. “And then Steve’s gonna introduce us to his boyfriend.”

“Don’t say it like that, Sam. I just —”

“Yeah, Sam,” Darcy cut in. “The relationship might not be there yet. He’s only come in that one time. They could just be fuck-buddies.”

“Didn’t your internship form say something about ‘improving your people-reading skills’, Darce?” Sam asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Yeah, keep working on that.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Sam?” Steve was starting to wonder whether letting these two anywhere near Bucky was a good idea.

“It means she picked up on you being twitchy all day without figuring out this is the friends-meet-boyfriend event everyone dreads,” Sam explained.

“So it _is_ serious,” Darcy crowed, taking hold of Steve’s arm again as if to keep him from running off. “How serious? Are you having a wedding? You can, you know. I can totally arrange it for you.”

“Oh, my God, you guys. I will cancel this whole thing right now if you don’t start behaving yourselves. You are going to scare him off in two minutes if you...” They were both grinning at him like idiots. “No, I’m... Listen. He’s skittish. And you, miss, are a handful.”

Darcy laughed. “Which you won’t find out, unless you two are into threesomes. Nice matched set, you two... Blond and brunet...”

Steve chose not to dignify that with a response; he just _looked_ at her. When she refused to be chastened, he sighed and turned to Sam. “And _you,_ mister know-it-all housemate, you can be damned intimidating. So please. Don’t make this a _thing_. Just because Winter approves and he gave me a keycard doesn’t mean we —”

Sam’s brows shot up. “A keycard, huh?”

Steve sighed. “It was a security issue, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.” Sam shoved Maggie’s leash into Steve’s hand, then put his arm around Darcy’s shoulders, pulling her away from Steve. “Let’s not break up the lovebirds. Free pass for hitting on the boss today, Darce.”

“Wait, whoa. Steve, here,” she said, fumbling her phone from an outside pocket of her rucksack. She unlocked it and held it out to him, all but bouncing on her toes. “Evidence. This is going on Instagram. Do your magic, Steve. Make us look hot.”

At a complete loss with his coworker friends, but absolutely in his element behind a camera, Steve took a couple of nice shots. He handed the phone back to Darcy, then passed Maggie’s leash back to Sam, who accepted with a grin and a wink, making Steve’s face heat up.

“Excellent,” Darcy said, stashing the phone in her bag. “Come on, Sam. Let’s go meet the boyfriend.”

“Darcy, I’m serious...” Steve felt about seventeen, which was the height of Aunt Vera’s crusade to embarrass the shit out of him at every opportunity. But Sam gave him a slight nod, in an ‘I’ll take care of it’ sort of way, and Steve followed them across the street with Maggie bouncing at their heels.

 

~~~

 

Howling Commandos was quiet most days, with just a couple of people stopping by for interviews or to ask questions. Weekends were their busy time, which was why Bucky preferred to keep an eye on the place during the week. Now, it had the bonus effect of letting him stay close to Steve without pulling a Brock and going all stalker on him.

Which made it doubly nice that it had been Steve’s idea to get together after the VA clinic closed up shop for the day. As long as they kept their mutual stalking balanced, Bucky figured he’d be doing all right. Maybe relationships weren’t that hard to handle after all.

Because this _was_ a relationship, even after just two sort-of dates. Hell, to judge by the stories Bucky had heard, he and Steve had gone through a year’s worth of misunderstandings for a normal couple. The fact that they were still together had to mean something more than just having fun in bed.

Since the other dogs were all in foster care, Bucky had the kennel hallway doors open at both ends, letting in a breeze from the backyard. Winter was racing back and forth, taking advantage of the long corridor for a high-speed game of fetch that was only interrupted when the front doors opened.

“With me,” Bucky said, getting up off the floor. He automatically angled his body away from the door, hiding his left arm, just in case.

But it was Steve who walked in, and Bucky grinned at the surge of not just _want_ but sheer pleasure that hit as their eyes met. Didn’t hurt that Steve’s face lit up like a Christmas tree either.

“Hey.” He walked straight up to Bucky, as if he’d forgotten about the beagle at his feet and the two strangers trailing behind him. The girl, Bucky recognized from the VA, but not the guy — about Bucky’s height and gorgeous, with a sleek, strong build that his business casual outfit did nothing to hide.

Instead, he signaled Winter into a sit, just in case the beagle went nuts, and reached for Steve’s hands. “Hey...” he said a little uncertainly, glancing at the others.

“Hey,” Steve repeated. He squeezed Bucky’s hands, but didn’t lean in for a kiss. Instead, he let go of Bucky’s right hand and turned, still holding the left. “This is Maggie.” He nodded to the beagle, who was trying to escape the other guy’s hold, claws scrabbling on the linoleum floor, as she strained to get to Winter. “And the humans are Darcy, our intern, and Sam, our lead counselor. Guys, this is Bucky.”

“And that is an _awesome_ dog,” Darcy said before Bucky could say another word. “Built-in urban camo. Useful for the zombie apocalypse.”

Bucky grinned. “Better believe it. Winter, say hi.”

Unafraid, she got right down to give Winter a hug. Sam reached over them and extended his hand. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Bucky shook his hand, liking the way he didn’t play games or stare at the cybernetic arm. “I think it’s pretty good timing. You’re his housemate, huh?”

“Me and Maggie, yeah.”

“Steve didn’t say he was living with a hot guy, or I would’ve been jealous.”

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Darcy said, sitting on the floor so she could look up at the three of them. “Dude, I need pictures of this to capture this visual forever.”

Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand carefully and told her, “I don’t usually do pictures, but I might have to make an exception.”

“Okay, this just went from a bad idea to a _terrible_ idea,” Sam said.

Steve turned to Bucky, his face adorably pink. “You don’t have to. I can send them both away. They have to listen to me; I’m their boss.”

Struggling not to laugh, Bucky started to say, “It’s fine —” The doors banged open, and Bucky pulled Steve back a step. “Winter!”

“We’re home!” Clint announced in a sing-song voice. He stopped two steps in and tipped his head to look over his sunglasses. “Uh. Clients?” he asked in a much more civilized voice.

Bucky made himself let go of Steve’s hand. “Friends,” he said, glancing apologetically at Steve.

“Oh, man. I am _never_ gonna fall asleep tonight,” Darcy said.

“Hey, Clint. You know Sam and Darcy, but have you met Maggie?” Steve stepped forward to make introductions, just as Natasha walked in behind Clint.

Clint beamed at Maggie and leaned over to ruffle her fur. “Hey, baby.”

“Yeah, here, Maggie,” Sam said, giving her leash a tug. She slipped out of Clint’s hands and followed Sam as he went right for Natasha, saying, “Hey.”

“Well, hi,” Natasha said, looking him over — or maybe looking at the dog. “Maggie, you said?”

“Yep. Real friendly.”

“Hey. So am I,” Darcy said, poking Clint’s arm hard.

“Ow. How is that friendly?” he protested.

“Winter, go play,” Bucky said before he turned to Steve. Quietly, he asked, “Did you plan this?”

Steve shook his head, his face amused but clearly at a loss. “I wanted you to meet Sam. Darcy wanted to re-meet Clint. _I_ still don’t even know how the redhead fits in.”

“That’s Nat.” Bucky raised his voice, saying, “Hey, Nat!”

“I’m busy,” she answered, not even looking over at him.

Bucky laughed, pulling Steve further back away from the chaos. Since Maggie was happily getting attention from both Sam and Natasha, Clint was consoling himself with Winter — with Darcy’s help.

“I thought you’re an officer. You’re supposed to take credit any time things go right, even if you pulled the plan out your ass.” Bucky shook his head at Steve. “What would you do without me?”

“If you call this ‘going right’ I seriously worry about the command of your missions.”

“Nobody’s bleeding out, so this counts as a win. Really, Cap, did you manage to tie your shoes this morning, or did you get help?” Bucky teased.

“I’m sure I could have found something for you to help with this morning, if not my shoes.” Steve’s smile had gone wolfish around the edges.

Bucky stepped closer to Steve, leaning in to speak softly, “I’d say we should discuss that tomorrow morning, only I don’t want to get in trouble for you being late to work.”

Steve’s voice wasn’t much more than a breath in his ear. “I only live a mile away, and by the looks of it, Sam might be busy this evening...”

Bucky went still, torn between the spike of interest that went through him and the uncertainty of what Steve was offering — hell, the uncertainty of what he himself had implied with his ‘tomorrow morning’ comment. He didn’t like sleeping anywhere that wasn’t in his own home, preferably his own bed, but why was he even considering letting Steve stick around overnight? He wasn’t going to banish Steve to the couch again, even by accident...

“Never mind. I forgot about Winter.” Steve said, kissing his cheek and squeezing his hand, then looking back at their friends getting along.

_No._

Bucky took a breath and said, “Maggie seems pretty well behaved. A little excited, but there’s a lot going on in a new place. You could bring her over tonight, give Sam the night off, so he doesn’t have to worry about walking her.”

Steve was still watching everyone as he started to reply. “She’s a good dog, just a little...” He turned to look at Bucky, his standard confused frown pinching his forehead. “You want me to bring Maggie to your place? What for?”

“For the night.” Bucky looked back at Sam and Natasha, who were obviously more than interested in each other. Darcy seemed more interested in Clint than he was in her, but he was distracted by the dogs. He’d coaxed Maggie away from Sam and was trying to teach her how to shake hands.

Bucky could feel Steve looking at him, but it was at least a count of twenty before he spoke. “Okay. I’d like that.” Steve finally looked away, back at the chaos of people and dogs. “But if she ends up being a handful, I can take her home whenever.”

It was an escape — a way out for either of them, if necessary. Bucky leaned against Steve’s body and turned to kiss his cheek. “Sounds good to me.”


	18. Chapter 18

Maggie, as it turned out, didn’t like riding in a car — not even a spacious luxury SUV with reinforced suspension and multi-zone climate control.

She started whining as soon as Bucky opened the back door for Winter, who jumped up onto the covered back seat without hesitation. For the life of him, Steve couldn’t coax Maggie to jump up onto the running board. So much for Maggie being a good therapy dog candidate if she wouldn’t get up into a car.

Finally Bucky said, “Okay, here. Let’s...” He swung into the back seat, twisted around, and knelt on the floorboards. Then he leaned out, spread his hands, and called, “Come on, baby. That’s a good dog.”

Whining, Maggie put her paws on the running board, then backed off and spun around. Steve thought about Sam, who’d been more than happy to take advantage of the dog-sitting offer and was currently heading out to Long Island in Natasha’s convertible for dinner at a fancy restaurant in Glen Cove. “Maybe this is a bad idea. We can just walk to my place and hang out there ’til you need to get Winter home.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Bucky sprawled on his belly and reached for Maggie, saying, “Hand her over.”

Maggie was only fifteen or so pounds. As gently as he could, Steve crouched and lifted her, passing her into Bucky’s hands. Her little legs flailed, and she whined even more.

Patiently, Bucky said, “Shh, baby. It’s okay.” He gathered her to his chest, holding her with his left arm, and scratched under her jaw with his right, keys dangling from one finger. “It’s okay. Steve, you drive. I’ll stay back here with her. Take the keys.”

Steve hesitated for only a second. After all, he’d already been behind the wheel of Bucky’s monster truck. But the idea of driving it because Bucky was too busy being sweet and soothing to a freaked-out dog he’d just met, so that both Steve and Sam could have pleasant evenings, made Steve melt a little. When his personal issues weren’t backing him into a corner and raising his hackles, Bucky didn’t hesitate to take care of his own.

“Turn on the radio, will you? There’s a trance station that might help keep her calm,” Bucky said as Steve got into the driver’s seat. “It’s one of the favorites on the touchscreen.”

The brightly lit display in the center of the dashboard was as intuitive as Steve could hope for, but the satellite radio options boggled his mind a bit. He found the one Bucky had indicated and prepared to pull out into traffic to what seemed to him a particularly droney song. “You all right back there? Everybody?” Steve couldn’t quite spare a glance for Winter while driving, but no noise seemed like good news.

“We’re fine,” Bucky said from somewhere out of sight of the rearview mirror. Steve suspected he was still on the floorboards with Maggie. “Isn’t that right, baby? She’s just a little scared, poor thing. But it’s okay. She’s a real good girl. Aren’t you, Maggie?”

That was a tone of voice Steve had never heard from Bucky before, and it took all his concentration to not look away from the road to stare in awe at the crooning sweetness pouring from his lover’s mouth. Steve had never wanted children, but for a second his brain supplied the image of Bucky-as-father and it derailed every other thought until he had to merge to get on the Brooklyn Bridge.

And Bucky never stopped. He kept up the soothing flow of words, even when Maggie’s coughing turned to hacking and hacking turned to something worse — and messier. Steve winced, thinking of the expensive upholstery and how much it probably cost to detail the SUV, but Bucky didn’t shout. He just said, “Oh, sure. You’re probably doing that so you can get a nice steak for dinner, huh, Maggie? It’s okay, baby. We’re almost home.”

No wonder Bucky was thinking of doing something career-wise with animals. It was obvious to Steve that not only was he unfazed by Maggie’s condition, he was absolutely invested in keeping her as comfortable as possible, no matter what. Steve’s heart went out to both of them as he pulled the car onto 4th Avenue. “Where’s the entrance to the parking garage, love?”

“Just pull up to the front, at guest parking. I want to get her upstairs, then clean the carpet. She should have some water. Dinner in an hour or so, after her stomach settles down.”

Steve parked and took charge of Winter — or let Winter lead him inside — while Bucky insisted on carrying Maggie all the way up to his apartment. Since his hands were full, Steve used his own keycard for the first time.

“Let him off the leash,” Bucky said. As soon as Winter was free, Bucky told him, “Security check,” but didn’t wait for the check to finish. He carried Maggie into the foyer, looking alertly around, and then crouched to set her on the floor. She was wiggling and sniffing the air, carsickness gone. Bucky looked up at Steve and asked, “Can you watch her?”

“Of course, whatever you need.” Steve handed Bucky the car keys and managed to pull him up to his feet for a quick kiss. “Thank you for being so good with her.”

Bucky looked down at Maggie and smiled softly, the expression unguarded. “She was just scared. Water for them both — and no ice cubes, even if Winter barks at the freezer.”

As Bucky grabbed cleaning supplies and headed back down to the car, Steve decided that it wasn’t just the fact that Winter was a smart dog that made him so good; it was also Bucky being such a fantastic dog owner.

 

~~~

 

Dinner was baked chicken, brown rice, and steamed vegetables for both humans and dogs. Steve had said Maggie ate kibble at home, so Bucky fed her by hand, one tiny piece at a time, to keep her from gorging. Once she got used to the pace, she was pretty relaxed. And Winter was damn near perfect, keeping to a down-stay on the other side of the table instead of whining that Maggie was getting all the attention.

Afterwards, Bucky up-ended Winter’s entire toybox on the living room floor. Winter immediately pounced his favorite squeaky toy — the one Bucky kept hiding because the sound would induce migraines in about ten minutes — and left Maggie to flip out, trying to pick up everything at once. Watching them, Steve couldn’t stop laughing, and he finally had to retreat to sit on the sofa before his legs gave out.

Not one to miss an opening, Bucky climbed on top of him, blocking his view of the dogs. “I think they’re good for a couple of hours,” he hinted, tugging at Steve’s shirt to untuck it from his pants. “How about you?”

Steve’s hands went to Bucky’s hips and pulled him closer, then he leaned in to brush his lips against Bucky’s chin. “I’ve got all night, soldier.”

Bucky just had to duck to claim a proper kiss, slow and lazy. He slid his right hand up into Steve’s hair, scratching over his scalp. There was something relaxed about a night like this, without the pressure of restaurants and unfamiliar hotels and a partner who was nothing more than an attractive stranger. Much as Bucky would’ve enjoyed going out with Steve, this was... nice.

The thought made him laugh, wrecking the kiss. When the hell had he become so domestic? More to the point, why didn’t he hate himself for it?

Steve, who almost always closed his eyes while kissing, opened them and smirked questioningly at Bucky, bringing both hands up to brush the hair out of Bucky’s face and tuck it behind his ears. “My kisses are amusing now?”

Bucky huffed and gave Steve’s hair a quick tug. “Your kisses are fucking hot,” he scolded. “I was just never one for, you know, making out on the couch after dinner. Not in my own place, anyway. I’d usually be dragging you off to a club or something.”

“Would you rather go out?” Steve looked, perplexed, at the dogs for a second, then back at Bucky.

“That a hint for me to find a way to tie you to the sofa?”

Steve let his head fall to rest on the back of the couch, then tilted it sideways a bit to maintain eye contact. “It wasn’t meant to be, but now that you mention it...” His smile was wicked but his hands were back on Bucky’s hips, holding him in place. “Your place feels good. I like being here with you.”

The words settled into Bucky, pushing aside his apprehension to make space for themselves, as if they belonged. As if he belonged here with Steve, quietly domestic, rather than being out on the town, chasing a thrill that had become more boring with every passing night. Telling himself not to think about it, Bucky ducked and kissed his way up Steve’s throat, saving a sharp bite for the soft skin behind his jaw, just the way he knew Steve liked.

Maybe there was something to be said for familiarity after all.

If nothing else, there was something to be said for being comfortable — which his couch, for all that it had cost a fucking fortune, wasn’t. At least, not for this. So he bit Steve’s earlobe hard enough to earn a moan, tugged, then licked before saying, “Bedroom? While the dogs are distracted?”

Steve cast a glance at Maggie and Winter, each contentedly gnawing on a toy. “Mmm... Yes, please. Sir.”

 

~~~

 

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky whispered, the words barely audible over the soft hum of the air conditioning system. “Fuck, that’s good. Don’t move. Just... stay there.”

Staring down at Bucky, Steve clenched his fists in the pillows near Bucky’s shoulders, dragging in breaths, trying to control the need to pull back and thrust deep into Bucky’s body. A lifetime ago, Bucky had said something about wanting to be lazy and have Steve do all the work, and Steve had happily agreed — without realizing how damned difficult it would be to not just take everything Bucky was offering. At least, not until he had permission.

Distantly, he thought that the men who’d denied themselves this pleasure, equating bottoming with weakness, were all idiots. Because there was nothing weak about how Bucky had directed every last twitch of Steve’s fingers and the position of Steve’s body and even how deep Steve was allowed to go. Bucky had dragged out the foreplay and penetration until Steve was trembling with need and buzzing with the high of giving Bucky exactly what he wanted.

“Fuck, Steve. God, that’s fucking perfect.” Bucky shifted his hips, and Steve had to bite his own lip to keep silent, focused entirely on Bucky’s voice. “You’d do this all night if I let you, huh? You’re so fucking good, Steve. Holding back for me like this.”

“Aaah, fffuck.” The combination of an implicit demand to deny himself for Bucky’s pleasure and such fervent praise scrambled Steve’s brain and had him gasping to keep control of himself. He hadn’t been stretched so thin in a long time, and all he could do was pray he didn’t snap before Bucky gave him the release of movement.

Bucky slid his hands up Steve’s back until he could curl his fingers around Steve’s shoulders. “God, I love your body,” Bucky said, his voice a low purr. He tightened his grip, then used his leverage to roll his hips up even more, seating Steve deeper in his body, as deeply as possible. With a broken groan, Bucky pressed his legs to Steve’s sides, finally opening his eyes to look up into Steve’s face. “You okay, babe?” he whispered, and there was no mistaking it for worry or concern, the way Bucky was smirking wickedly.

Steve nodded, unable to keep a pleading look off his face, and gave the desired response, his voice tight with the struggle to keep control. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Bucky said, moving his left hand down Steve’s arm, then back up, gently petting. “Ready to fuck me, Steve? Nice and slow to start.”

“God, yes.” Steve’s breath hitched even as he spoke, and the first drag of his cock inside Bucky after waiting so long was a revelation. He took his time, out then in, the slow slide and the pressure familiar and yet extraordinary. It had been a long time since he’d been allowed this specific pleasure, and he thanked the slight dulling of sensation the condom afforded him so he could hold out longer than just a few thrusts.

Bucky’s legs tightened against Steve’s ribs, and his right hand clenched over Steve’s shoulder. He was more careful with his left, petting Steve’s arm and touching his neck and face. As he whispered “harder” and “faster” and Steve obeyed, Bucky dropped his hand to the blankets and twisted the material in his fingers.

Long after the world started to go fuzzy for Steve, Bucky asked, “You close, babe?”

If it were possible to be closer, Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to experience it. As it was, the exquisite torture had him unraveling, his throat raw from silencing his moans. His voice came out half-grunt, half-whisper. “Yeah. Fuck. Bucky...”

“Okay. Okay,” Bucky said a bit more strongly. He shifted under Steve again, saying, “Fuck. Hard, Steve. Hard as you can. This time, don’t stop. I want you to come for me, okay, Steve?”

“Yes.” The ess trailed on Steve’s exhale and pulsed as his breath gave out heavier on each thrust. He slammed himself into Bucky until his whole world was a single point of pleasure that exploded outward and flooded every corner of his being. He shook hard and his voice gave out on a groaning cry, and every muscle in him strained to catch hold of the euphoric sensations rushing past, leaving him dizzy.

He tried to hold himself up a little longer, but the undertow pulled the strength from his limbs, and he collapsed onto Bucky’s chest to find his breath. Bucky got his arms around Steve’s body, whispering, “Good, Steve. I’ve got you,” as he petted down Steve’s back and up over his nape. “God, you’re fucking good at that.”

Steve chuckled, breathily, not quite embarrassed, but barely together enough to not feel exposed. “At what, coming undone?”

Bucky’s huff sent a little shock through oversensitive nerves. “At making us both feel good. Here, move up a little.” Steve managed to push up onto an elbow, and Bucky got his right arm between them. He took gentle hold of the base of the condom before saying, “Go ahead. We’re not exactly done for the night yet, babe.”

Steve’s focus came back to him in a rush as he took in Bucky’s words and realized he had work to do. Well, not exactly work. There wasn’t really anything he enjoyed more than giving his partner pleasure of any kind. He pulled out of Bucky in one slow, steady motion, trying hard not to miss the sensation of being encompassed by him.

Bucky moved out of the way, letting Steve roll over to toss the condom into the trash bin under the nightstand. Bucky moved with him, pressing a kiss to Steve’s nape, and asked, “You better with your right hand or left? Or does it matter?”

A light static arc of electricity traveled down his spine from the contact of Bucky’s lips at his neck all the way to his tail bone as he answered. “Right,” he said, picking up the lube as he realized the significance of Bucky’s question.

“Other side, then,” Bucky said, sprawling flat on his back so Steve could climb over him. As soon as he did, Bucky pulled him down, wrapping his arm around Steve’s body. “Want you close.” He touched Steve’s face with cool metal fingertips.

As a submissive, in most of Steve’s sexual encounters, he hadn’t been allowed much agency, so much so that when he had it, he rarely thought to make use of it. But at that moment nothing could have held him back from kissing Bucky. Intentionally or not, he must have correctly guessed at what Bucky wanted, because Bucky sighed into the kiss and got his hand around Steve’s neck, holding him there. Emboldened by the avid response, Steve pressed in closer and explored Bucky’s mouth fully before claiming his lower lip and sucking on it, his teeth tugging lightly as he pulled away. He didn’t waste time letting Bucky’s breath lose its ragged edge as he slicked up his hand, ready for whatever directions Bucky wanted to give.

For long, breathless minutes, Bucky let the kiss continue, punctuating the brush of his tongue with little gasps and pleased moans. When Steve finally took hold of the base of Bucky’s cock, Bucky gasped but didn’t break the kiss to say anything. The hard heat in Steve’s hand felt insistent — a need he wanted to fulfill, more than anything else — but every time he thought to pull back and ask, Bucky chased his mouth for another kiss.

And maybe it was the lingering haze of pleasure from his own release, but it took Steve far too long to realize what Bucky wanted — needed, even — more than satisfaction.

Affection.

Steve let Bucky pull him closer, and he slipped one leg over Bucky’s, wanting to offer more skin-to-skin contact. The way Bucky melted against him told him he was on the right track. So he kept kissing as he experimentally slid his hand up over Bucky’s cock, and his reward was another sharp gasp and a soft “yeah, Steve” through the kiss that didn’t end.

Encouraged, Steve started to move his hand, fighting to focus less on the kiss and more on what he remembered Bucky liked. Slow but hard to start, faster and rougher towards the end... Satisfaction coiled deep inside him as he heard Bucky’s breath stutter and catch. Bucky’s mouth grew insistent, nipping and biting, seizing control of the kiss until it turned into open-mouthed panting and gasps. And when he pulled his left hand away, clenching the blankets in his fist, Steve knew it meant he was close.

And because this was Bucky, who was so much more than just a new dominant still unfamiliar with his power, Steve whispered into the kiss, “I’ve got you, sir. Please. Let go.”

With a bitten-off groan, Bucky did, thrusting up against Steve’s hand, cock pulsing against Steve’s fingers. Bucky dragged in breath after breath, letting Steve coax the last shudders of pleasure from him until they were both trembling.

Steve pressed his forehead to Bucky’s temple, breathing with him, and whispered in his ear, “Thank you.”

Bucky hummed quietly and turned enough to get his left arm around Steve’s shoulders, hugging him close. The metal was cold but felt good on Steve’s heated skin. “Keeping you, babe,” Bucky said through a quiet, lazy sounding laugh.

Steve returned the hug as much as his messy hand allowed, feeling a rush of joy spread a contented smile across his face. He replied without thinking. “More than happy to be kept.”

Bucky laughed, soft and unguarded, and leaned over enough to kiss Steve’s jaw. “Shower? And dogs? Pants, but still. Dogs.”

Agreeing that a shower and clothes were necessary to give the dogs their evening walk, and knowing Bucky wasn’t happy about one of those things, Steve kissed back and said, “Yes. Necessary. Even the pants. Sorry.”

“I could call the front desk, have them do it, but Maggie.” Bucky kissed Steve again, and this time, he sat up, rolling his shoulders in a slow stretch. “She’ll be all disoriented. I don’t want to leave her with a stranger.”

“You are the best dog dad ever.” Steve leaned forward while still lying down and kissed Bucky’s hip.

Bucky smiled down at Steve, combing his fingers through Steve’s hair. “You take care of me, I’ll take care of the dogs. Deal?”

An overwhelming wave of affection threatened to drown Steve. It was one thing to be given the very job he felt a deep need to do; it meant so much more to be allowed past Bucky’s defenses enough to do it. Such trust felt like a real gift. He sat up, cupped Bucky’s jaw in his clean hand, looked into Bucky’s eyes, and said, “Deal.” Then he swore to himself he wouldn’t break his word for anything.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Steve snapped awake to his alarm and instantly silenced it, already worried he’d disturbed Bucky’s sleep. They had crashed during post-sex cuddle time, which Bucky was stellar at. Whether it still had to do with making up for the lack that first night or if it was just his new favorite game to pet Steve until he nodded off, Steve wasn’t complaining. Bucky had been adamant that they should stay in his bed and sleep there, even though Steve could feel tension rise in him, for whatever reason.

Even before sitting up, Steve could tell that Bucky was already half-awake and pressed up against Steve’s back, that Maggie was dreaming at the foot of the bed, and that Winter was at Bucky’s six, which had hopefully helped. He squeezed Bucky’s right hand as he lifted it off his stomach and slid his feet out from under Maggie’s chin. Bathroom, shower, coffee, then a quick goodbye before heading to work.

“Leaving?” Bucky asked quietly, wrapping a hand around Steve’s hip.

Nothing in him wanted to say yes, but, as he wasn’t the independently wealthy one, it was necessary. “Not yet. Shower. Be right back.”

“Want company?”

Steve looked back while slipping out of Bucky’s grasp. His face was half-buried in the pillow, under a curtain of hair that couldn’t quite hide the dark circles under his eyes. He was more asleep than not. And still offering to get naked and wet. Steve shook his head as he got up and headed to the en suite.

Bucky still wasn’t awake ten minutes later, when Steve came back into the bedroom to get his clothes. His eyes were open, tracking Steve’s movements, and he was petting Winter, but Steve was almost positive those were all automatic reflexes. He looked like he’d been up for most of the night. Steve hoped it wasn’t more nightmares, though he figured he would have woken up if it had gotten bad.

Dressing quickly, Steve tried to figure out how to be the least hassle possible for Bucky, who clearly needed two fewer beings in his bed to get some actual rest. But the last time Steve had been over, Bucky had insisted on driving him to Brooklyn at three in the morning, on principle or something.

He held off putting on his shoes and sat back down on the edge the bed, fitting himself into the hollow between Bucky’s chest and knees and resting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Hey. I’m gonna head out so you can rest.”

“Fuck.” Bucky pushed up on his left arm, leaning heavily against Steve’s back. “Gimme ten. I’ll drive you.”

“Baby, no. That’s silly. I’ll be fine. You need to sleep. Did you, at all?” Steve combed his fingers gently through Bucky’s hair. It was a tangled wreck, and all Steve wanted to do was cuddle Bucky back down into the pillows and pet him into sleep, the way Bucky had done for him last night, but there was no time.

“You can’t take Maggie in a cab,” Bucky protested, fighting to free his legs from the blankets. “She’ll puke again.”

_Shit._

He was right. Steve hadn’t thought the problem through that far. But they’d already decided, Bucky took care of the dogs, and Steve took care of Bucky. If only Bucky would let that happen. “We’ll figure it out. Please, darling. Go back to sleep.” Steve kissed Bucky’s forehead and pressed firmly on his shoulder to get him to lie back down.

“Not letting you put her in a cab,” Bucky insisted. He tried to get up again, but even the strength of his cybernetic arm wasn’t enough to push Steve aside. That or Bucky was too uncoordinated to properly try. After a few seconds, Bucky huffed and relaxed back into the mattress, glaring sullenly up at Steve. “Take the car, if that’s how you’re gonna be,” he mumbled.

Well, that actually solved everything. At least Steve would have time to clean up whatever mess Maggie made on the way to Brooklyn. And he could bring the car back after work, maybe take Bucky out to dinner as a thank you. “Are you sure?”

“You could just come back to bed.” Bucky rolled over, curling himself around Steve’s body. “Then we could shower together, later.”

Steve groaned at the absolute unfairness of an eight-to-five job. He leaned back into Bucky’s warmth for just a moment as he spoke. “You know I want that, but I can’t let them fire me after less than a month. Sam would have my head after all the work he did to get me the job.”

“Less than a month?” Bucky asked, lifting his head to blink up at Steve through his hair. He inched around even more so he could rest his head on Steve’s thigh. “Fuck it. That’s nothing. I could keep you here a month without leaving the fucking bedroom.”

Okay, _that_ was something he had to try not to fantasize about the whole way to work. Also, Bucky was clearly still more asleep than not. “Hey, focus a second. Are you sure I can use the car? Because I have to leave in a minute.”

Grumbling, Bucky rubbed his face against Steve’s leg. “Yeah. Keys are” — he wrapped his arm around Steve’s body to gesture towards the doorway — “somewhere. Or I could write you a note for Sam.”

“Doesn’t work that way, baby.” Steve gently extricated himself from Bucky’s grasp, hating having to do so the whole time. “But call me when you wake up, and we can talk about where to go for dinner.” He kissed his adorably pouting and overly cuddly lover, boyfriend, _something,_ then grabbed his shoes and ruffled Maggie’s ears. “Come on, Mags. Let’s go find Sam.”

Maggie hopped down and bounced around Steve’s feet. Bucky lifted his head enough to watch her, a faint smile on his face. Winter just let out a dramatic sigh and rolled over, pushing against Bucky.

Quietly, Steve crossed the room, trying to get Maggie to calm down. When she finally rushed out into the foyer, Steve stopped in the doorway for a second to look back at Bucky, who was still watching him sleepily.

Softly, Steve said, “Thanks, love.” And Bucky smiled in response, even as his eyes closed.

 

~~~

 

Bucky woke up cuddling warmth and fur — and _not_ Steve, which was confusing. Steve had been there just a few minutes ago, hadn’t he?

“Winter — ugh.” Bucky shoved a hand between his mouth and Winter’s fur, then rolled over onto his back. “Winter, go find Steve.”

Unhelpfully, the dog thumped his tail on the bed and inched insistently closer to Bucky.

_“Steve!”_ The shout escaped before Bucky remembered it wasn’t polite to scream across the apartment, but fuck it. It was his apartment. It wasn’t his fault that there were hard floors everywhere and sound echoed.

No answer.

“Fuck.” Bucky rolled onto his left side and picked up his phone from the nightstand. He had a missed call, so he thumbed the callback button and put the phone between his ear and the pillow, expecting to hear Steve’s voice.

What he got instead was a chipper secretary saying, “Good morning, Secretary Pierce’s office. May I help you?”

“Fuck,” Bucky repeated, jerking his head back from the phone. He stabbed at the phone to disconnect the call and sat up. Winter bounced over onto Bucky’s side of the bed. “Where’s Steve, Winter? And shit. _Maggie!_ ”

Again, no answer. And Bucky had no doubt that Maggie would’ve come running, skidding across the floor on traction-free feet.

Wondering what the hell he’d missed, he swiped the phone off his pillow, and it rang before he could even touch the screen. Danger ring, 202 area code. Washington DC.

_Fuck_.

Bucky answered and leaned against Winter. “What?”

“There you are, James,” Uncle Alex said cheerfully.

“Your fucking secretary recognizes my voice?”

“Actually, we get quite a bit in the way of profane prank calls. She just guessed it was you. I let her know you’d be calling me back. So you got my message?”

Bucky had turned off voicemail notifications weeks ago. “What do you want?”

“Brock said he saw you the other morning.”

“Yeah.” Bucky slid away from Winter and got up so he could pace to the other side of the bedroom. “It’s the last time. I don’t want him fucking stalking me.”

“That’s harsh, James. You know he cares deeply for you.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Bucky snapped. Winter jumped down off the bed. “I’m done with him. If I see him again, I’m calling the fucking cops.”

“Why would you do that?”

“So they can clean up the fucking body.”

“James,” Uncle Alex scolded sharply. “You —”

“No.” Bucky shoved a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “You know what? Just, _no_. Keep him the fuck away from me, or you’re out one bodyguard. Understand? Because if I don’t drop him in the fucking East River, I will make goddamned _certain_ that every fucking news outlet, starting with the _New York_ fucking _Times_ , knows just how you’re spending your fucking security budget.”

He could hear his uncle’s inhale. Tension practically crackled through the phone. “There’s no call for you to behave like a _child_ , James. Stop throwing a temper —”

Fucking brilliant idea. He clenched his hand — forgetting entirely that he had the phone in his left hand, not his right — and he threw the pieces across the bedroom. Shards of plastic, glass, and circuit boards scattered.

Whining, Winter rushed to him and leaned against his legs, licking at his hand. Bucky closed his eyes, trying to breathe deeply and evenly. He sat down on the cold floor and got his arms around Winter, who moved to lick his face, body practically vibrating with tension.

_“Fuck.”_

He looked past Winter to the remains of his phone. Little bits of plastic were caught between the plates that covered his fingers. He leaned against Winter and picked out the pieces, tossed them aside, and then combed his fingers through Winter’s fur, just in case he’d been hit with any shards.

“Let’s get you out of here, okay? Follow, Winter,” he said, getting to his feet. He walked carefully, making sure to stay clear of any pieces that had ricocheted off the walls, and got Winter safely out into the hallway. He closed the bedroom door and leaned back against it, wondering what time it was and where Steve had gone.

 

~~~

 

Since Darcy was scheduled to work the afternoon shift, Steve picked up six slices of pizza for lunch. As soon as he walked in, carrying the box, she said, “Aha! You were wearing those pants yesterday.” Her eyes glittered behind her glasses, and she grinned. “ _Somebody_ didn’t make it home last night, huh?”

Someday Steve would learn how not to blush at the least provocation, but today was not that day. Deflection would have to do for now. “Was I the only one? We left too soon to be sure...”

Her expression turned gleeful, and she switched her laser focus to the closed door of Sam’s office. “Is _that_ why he’s hiding? _Do not disturb,_ my ass,” she said happily.

Steve had been wondering about Sam’s night all morning, but hadn’t had a chance to fish for information. Sam had been unusually busy, given how empty his schedule was. “Hiding, really? From us?” He handed Darcy her slices of pizza and winked, then walked over to Sam’s office door. “Sam, got your pizza out here.”

Maggie scratched at the door long enough that Steve got a little worried. He reached for the doorknob, only to have the door open an instant later. “Hey, watch out!” Sam warned as Maggie shot out, bee-lining right for Darcy, who cooed and fussed and slipped Maggie a slice of pepperoni.

Steve smiled at Sam and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man. Come have lunch.”

“I got some paperwork to fill out. Pass me mine before Darce gives my lunch to Maggie, will you?” Sam asked a little too cheerfully.

That made Steve looked closely at Sam’s face, where he saw a hint of a wince around his eyes. It put him on alert, and he focused on threat assessment. He grabbed the pizza from Darcy’s desk, but instead of handing it over, he backed Sam into the office with it.

“Hey, what —”

Steve just gave him his ‘I’m your CO, so don’t fuck with me’ face.

Sam closed the door, leaving Maggie with Darcy, and went back to his desk. When he sat, he held his back stiff and away from the chair. “Natasha,” he said, giving Steve an apologetic look that didn’t quite work because of the silly grin tugging at his lips.

Steve grinned in response, but it was his duty to check in further. “I take it whatever she did was consensual? Or do I need to tell Bucky to brush up on his sniper skills?”

Sam couldn’t keep to his stoic, professional expression. He burst out laughing and started to lean back, then caught himself. “Oh, hell yes, it was consensual. And if you stop her from doing it again, I might have to put out a hit on _you_ instead. Let’s just say that our morning jogging didn’t keep me in shape for a woman who’s a natural athlete. Not one with nails like that, anyway.”

With every tidbit of info, Steve’s smile got wider. “Aha. Well, congrats, brother. I see now why you wanted to chase her down last week when you caught a glimpse.”

“I’m gonna marry her, if she doesn’t kill me first,” Sam declared.

Steve smirked, but raised his eyebrows sincerely. “Okay, but If you need me to help with first aid, I’m there for you. I want you to heal quickly if you’re gonna keep seeing her.”

The sound of the outside door opening and closing cut off any response from Sam, who frowned and clicked his mouse, probably checking his calendar.

_“Hey, boss-man!”_ Darcy shouted, as Maggie let out a riot of happy barking.

It was Steve’s turn to frown. As he opened the door, he looked back at Sam and murmured softly, “Happy for you.”

Sam rolled his eyes and waved Steve out of the office. Steve turned toward the foyer and let himself grin when he saw Bucky and Winter by Darcy’s desk. Bucky was crouched down, one arm around Winter, who was tolerating Maggie’s attempts to jump up and maul him.

“Hey baby, did you need the car so soon?” he asked casually, hiding the concern that flared up in him when he realized Bucky was focusing on Winter more than anything else. It was subtle, but Steve was getting better at reading him.

“No. Just” — he glanced at the door — “wanted to stop by Howling Commandos. Thought I’d say hi here, first.”

“Good plan,” Darcy said, and though her voice was cheerful, she shot Steve a quick, narrow-eyed look.

Steve approached and crouched down, using his hands to calm Maggie and his voice to soothe Bucky. “I’m glad you did. And perfect timing. It’s my lunch break.” He glanced at Darcy, who nodded confirmation that they wouldn’t be disturbed. “Wanna keep me company in my office?”

“Sure.” Bucky got up and stepped back, with Winter keeping close to him, despite the combined lure of Maggie, Darcy, and pepperoni. Darcy lifted Maggie onto her lap to distract the little beagle while Steve led Bucky into his office.

When he’d closed the door, Steve reached out to offer Bucky a hug and said, “Everything okay, love?”

Bucky let out a shaky breath and rested his hands on Steve’s hips, leaning his head against Steve’s shoulder. Winter leaned against them both, rather than trying to push between them. “I need a new phone. Again,” Bucky muttered.

Steve had never figured out what happened to the first phone, but he could make an educated guess about this one. He hugged Bucky closer and kissed his hair as he spoke. “If this has to do with Brock, I’m going on a rampage.”

Bucky tensed. “Sort of.”

Odds were high that meant Pierce was involved, but there was only so much mind-reading Steve could do. “Do you want to tell me what happened, or should we just go to the cell phone store?”

“Sorry.” Bucky pulled back, glancing around the office, looking out the window for a beat too long, as if trying to subtly scan the street. “I just wanted to let you know, in case you called. I’ll probably just get a new number.”

If Bucky was in survival mode and dropping under the radar, then he’d probably done something extreme enough to freak himself out. Which in the long run might be good, but for right now meant damage control. Keep him close, either here or across the street... or maybe just here so Steve could keep an eye on him. Give that man an out, and he’d take it.

“All right. But why don’t you hang out here and have some pizza, and when I’m done working we can go take care of the phone?”

“I don’t want to bug you.” Bucky looked from the window to Winter, who was sitting on Bucky’s foot, as if he agreed with Steve’s decision to keep Bucky here.

Steve smiled softly and tried to catch Bucky’s eye. “Are you kidding? You’d be doing me a favor. It’s so boring here today, Darcy and I have had to make up things to gossip about.”

Bucky laughed a little bit — barely a huff of breath, but Steve counted it as a win, anyway. “We skipped breakfast, so if you’ve got extras. Or I can order something,” he said, taking a step back before he crouched down to ruffle Winter’s fur.

Steve didn’t miss how his positioning put him well away from the window. Trying to be casual, Steve used the excuse of moving the guest chair to look outside. He didn’t see anyone — Brock, for example — but Bucky’s connections to Pierce meant there were far more potential threats than an ex-boyfriend.

He’d forgotten his own lunch on Darcy’s desk, which probably meant that by now it had no toppings or crust left, but he really didn’t have much to do in the way of work, so a second pizza run wasn’t a hardship. And making sure Bucky felt safe was a priority. “There’s a great by-the-slice place down the street. I’ll just run over. What do you guys want?”

“That’s okay. I’ll get something,” Bucky said, standing. He glanced at Winter, frowning, then asked, “Mind if I leave Winter here?”

None of that was good. Steve didn’t like to put his foot down, but when pressed, he became immovable. “Baby, let me get it. You hang out with Winter. And Maggie, who I’m sure Darcy is sick of by now.” Steve was already to the door, brooking no argument about this. “If you don’t state your preference right now, I’m coming back with six slices of pepperoni.”

This time, Bucky’s laugh was a little more genuine. He sat down on the floor, leaning back against the wall, and said, “You’re shit at threatening people, Cap. Fucking baby officers...”

Steve grinned at the ‘insult’, which he’d come to think of as a good sign. He stepped back over to kiss the top of Bucky’s head then walked out the door saying, “Pepperoni, it is. Be right back.”

“Get a whole pie! We’re starving!” Bucky called after him.

Steve laughed on his way out, but stopped to knock on Sam’s door. When Sam called, “Open!” Steve peeked inside.

Softly, he said, “Hey, you got room in your schedule sometime before five? Buck’s having a bad day, and if I can get him to agree to it, I’d love you to talk with him.”

“Yeah. I was just going to do paperwork from four o’clock on,” Sam said, his voice equally soft. “You got everything under control until then?”

“Pretty sure between Winter and me, we’ve got it covered. But thanks. We might recruit Mags for a distraction if that’s okay.”

“Whatever you need. I can clear my three o’clock, too. Just let me know,” Sam said, offering a reassuring smile.

Steve smiled back gratefully and nodded. “Will do. Thanks again.”


	20. Chapter 20

They ate lunch on the floor of Steve’s office. Despite Steve’s wariness of leaving the pizza box in Winter’s reach, the dog was polite — more polite than most humans would’ve been, in fact — and only ate what Bucky gave him, on his own paper plate. Of course, then he tried to eat the paper plate, which led to Bucky distracting Winter with crusts.

Though Bucky seemed to relax, Steve knew him well enough to recognize the tension in his shoulders and the wariness in his eyes. Between bites and words, he retreated to Winter, watching or petting or feeding him treats from his own hand.

It wasn’t until they were all down to crusts that Bucky finally said, “My uncle called.”

_Shit._

Steve hated being right sometimes. He put down the crust he’d been about to pop into his mouth and spoke hesitantly, hoping only to encourage Bucky to continue. “Okay. Right.”

Bucky didn’t look away from where he’d burrowed his metal fingers into Winter’s fur. “He wanted to talk about Brock. Get me to take him back.” More softly, he added, “Again.”

Steve tried to hide his wince. He should have been ready for two steps forward, one step back. “And?”

Bucky’s scratching must have hit a good spot. Winter twisted, back foot slapping against the floor. “And I kinda broke the phone,” he said, darting a guilty look Steve’s way before he went back to lavishing attention on the dog.

Not far from Steve’s original assumption, but still not the best news. That level of uncontrolled reaction when upset was unhealthy. “Well, that’s one way to make sure a boundary gets respected.”

That got him a short laugh. “He’s good at finding me. Getting a new number will hold him off about a week” — Bucky looked up just long enough for their eyes to meet, then went back to focusing on Winter — “even if I don’t give the fucking number to anyone but you. Fuck if I know how he does it.”

Steve wondered for a second if it was a good idea to feed Bucky’s overly cautious instinct and mention prepaid burner phones. But Bucky had been on the defensive for so long, it might be time for something new. “If you for sure don’t want him to contact you, there are ways of making him stop.”

Bucky let out a huff. “Even I might have trouble taking out the Secretary of Defense without doing a suspicious amount of recon,” he said, glancing at the window again.

That surprised a quick laugh out of Steve, but he frowned right after. “No, baby. Legal channels. Restraining orders. Stuff like that.” He scooted himself closer to Bucky to take hold of his ankle.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Bucky asked, though he managed a faint smirk. “Besides, my uncle _would_ have me offed, if I put his name on a restraining order. Can you imagine if the press got wind of _that?_ ”

Steve raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly, rubbing slow circles around Bucky’s ankle bone with his thumb. “Well, could the threat of that be used as a bargaining chip? I’m just spitballing here, but it sounds like you’re about as done with him as you are with Brock.” He wasn’t sure how far to push this, but Bucky seemed to be looking for a way out.

Bucky eyed Steve warily. “A cornered animal is a lot more dangerous,” he said uncertainly. “And he’s my uncle. I mean, him and my sisters... They’re all I’ve got left, since Mom and Dad...”

Moving even closer to take Bucky’s free hand in both of his, Steve took a breath before saying, “Darling, _you_ look about as cornered as you can get. Even if he was your dad I’d be suggesting you do the same thing. You don’t feel safe. Interacting with him is not healthy for you. It’s okay to decide you don’t want to do that anymore.”

“He’s in DC,” Bucky said, looking back down at Winter. “He doesn’t usually come to New York. He probably won’t be around again for a while.”

“That’s not the point, love. I can’t watch you freak out every time he decides to drop by for a visit.” Steve realized too late how long-term he was making things sound between them, but he’d spoken the truth, and he wasn’t about to take it back.

Bucky took a shaky breath, squeezing Steve’s hand. “But he was all we had,” he said, barely able to meet Steve’s eyes for a heartbeat. “My youngest sisters still live with him.”

“Past tense, baby. And you are only responsible for you. The girls have to figure out their own stuff. If you feel you need to make a clean break with him for your mental health, then what he’s been for you in the past is not a part of that equation. Doesn’t make you any less grateful.”

“But I’d still see him,” Bucky protested weakly. He tightened his grip and scooted closer to Steve. Winter moved with him, crawling halfway into Bucky’s lap. “I was just trying to be... civil, I guess. Trying not to make things worse.”

Steve felt like he was running out of arguments, but he was at least ninety percent sure that Bucky was coming up with excuses more because he was seriously considering Steve’s point of view than because he didn’t agree with it. He raised Bucky’s hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over the knuckles. “And has that worked?”

“It got me you,” he said, freeing his hand so he could touch Steve’s face. “I funded Howling Commandos so I’d have an excuse to stay in New York. Now I’ve got another one.”

“Mmm.” Steve couldn’t help but smile as he leaned into the touch, letting his eyes close for a long second, one hand going to Bucky’s hip. “Well, that works out nicely for both of us, doesn’t it?” He looked fondly at Bucky and said, “And you can use me as an excuse anytime, if you need to. Like you did when you told Brock I was your boyfriend.”

Bucky blinked once. Then his eyes went wide, and he pulled his hand back, saying, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t — I was just pissed —”

Steve sat up a bit straighter, feeling his face flush and wishing he hadn’t brought it up. “No, it’s fine. I mean, I just assumed it was a convenient term to get your point across, not that you wanted to...” He chuckled, embarrassed, feeling about seventeen again. “Besides, the word feels a bit high school, not quite what we...”

“Hey. No, it’s — it’s fine.” Bucky looked around at the remains of their lunch, then started shoving paper plates into the empty pizza box. “I’ll get out of your way. You’ve got work.”

_Shit._

“What? No. Bucky, don’t go. I’m sorry I brought up relationship stuff when we were dealing with your family stuff. That wasn’t fair. Please don’t leave.” He touched Bucky’s forearm as he reached for the box.

“It’s fine. It’s not — We’re not in high school or something,” Bucky said, darting a quick look Steve’s way. He pulled his hand back from the box and rested it on Winter’s head. “Thanks for lunch.”

Steve felt completely at sea for a moment, worried everything was about to fall apart. Then he took a breath and looked at what was going on with Bucky. He looked like a kicked puppy, and was retreating to comfort from Winter, not actually getting up to leave. Also, when things had gone badly with Pierce and he’d broken his phone, he’d come to Steve. And was willing to talk about it. None of that was running-at-the-first-sign-of-a-relationship behavior. Hell, all of this was off of _Steve_ having brought it up.

_Shit._

_Idiot._

They _weren’t_ in high school, which meant they had to stop acting like they were. “Okay, hang on. Let me try again. What I meant was, when you stood up to Brock, I didn’t mind you using a term we hadn’t agreed on, because it got your point across to him. Not that I’m against that term — it just took me by surprise. But if it would be easier to get out of family functions by saying, I don’t know, ‘Steve needs me home that weekend’...” He wiped his hands down his face, upset with himself, certain he was digging the hole deeper.

“I’m not throwing you in front of my uncle. Shit, I’m not that much of an asshole.” Bucky nudged Winter off his lap and got to his feet.

Steve followed a second later and grabbed hold of Bucky’s left arm. “Jesus, Buck. I’d gladly take the flack if it meant he couldn’t do this shit to you. I hate seeing you like this. It breaks my heart.” He reached out to cup Bucky’s face in his hand, bracing for him to pull away, but needing to try for the connection.

Bucky covered Steve’s hand with his own, metal cool against Steve’s skin, glancing at the window again. “I wouldn’t do that to anyone. Especially not you. Bad enough he probably already knows who you are.”

“I don’t fucking care.” Steve pressed forward, making Bucky take a couple steps back until he was up against the wall, and neither of them was in the line of sight from the window. He looked searchingly into Bucky’s face. “That feel better? More secure?”

“What?” Bucky frowned at him, baffled.

Steve frowned back at him. “You’ve been preoccupied with the window this entire conversation. Is it better when you’ve got cover?”

“Cover?” Bucky looked at the window again, still frowning. “I don’t trust him not to send Brock or someone to watch for me. By now, he knows you’re in the VA, and that means he’s got everything on you.”

That was absolutely _paranoid_. Steve wondered if he could get Bucky to see Sam immediately, because if _that_ was going through his head —

But... Bucky was confused, not scared. Not even tense. Or, at least not _more_ tense than he’d been after Steve brought up the ‘boyfriend’ matter. He wasn’t flinching or braced against an imagined attack, like a gunman lurking outside. He was just careful to stay out of line-of-sight, the way he’d been last time... when Brock had been sitting outside, on his phone, watching the VA.

And if Aunt Vera had taught Steve anything, it was that dirty politicians like Pierce almost always stooped lower than you thought they would. Or at least had someone to do the stooping for them. And Steve was a government employee, which meant all his records were within Pierce’s reach.

“Jesus Christ. How do you even function with that sort of all-encompassing threat?”

Bucky’s laugh was sharp. “You get used to it, growing up in politics.”

Steve had heard of that life being referred to as ‘the fishbowl’ but he never really considered to what extent that could be true. “Then why on earth did you choose to live in a place that’s all windows? Don’t you look over your shoulder all the time?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “If my uncle wants pictures of you and me fucking, he’s welcome to them,” he said bluntly. “Me being here, though — that puts your job at risk.”

That couldn’t be true. Steve had to try to make Bucky understand that. “But baby” — Steve stepped to the window to look out at the street — “no one’s there.”

“Even if you can’t see them, you have to _think_ they could be there. Behave as if they are. Because the second you stop, that’s when they show up. How do you think the press gets hold of its ‘best’ pictures?” he asked distastefully.

And _that_ was mind control. Big Brother shit. But Bucky believed it. Steve went back over to him and took both of Bucky’s hands in his. “That’s no way to live. Who taught you to think like that, darling?”

Bucky sighed, giving Steve a look that bordered on exasperated. “My parents. My uncle. The pictures of me at a party when I was seventeen, drunk off my ass. Or from when I was on leave in Spain —” He cut off, shaking his head. “I don’t give a shit about my uncle’s career, Steve. Yours, though — I can’t fuck that up for you.”

“You’re saying I could lose my job because my boyfriend pissed off the Secretary of Defense by refusing to go to a family wedding? If that’s how it works here, let’s move to Canada.”

“That’s how it works everywhere, babe,” Bucky explained, squeezing Steve’s hands. “Look, after today, he probably won’t even bother you, if I leave. You didn’t ask for this shit.”

“What do you mean, _leave?_ ”

“ _Leave,_ ” Bucky repeated unhelpfully. “You don’t need this shit, no matter how good the sex is. You can do better with _anyone_ else.”

“I don’t _want_ anyone else. And I promise you I’m not just in it for the sex.” Steve crowded close to Bucky, pressing him right up against the wall. “And unless you can tell me, right now, to my face, that you _want_ to leave me, I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky said with a sigh. “You and Winter are the only _good_ things I have. I can’t fuck things up for either of you. Not for anything.”

“The only way to fuck things up to is to walk out. On either of us, honestly. Anything else, we can work through it. Right pal?” Steve looked down at Winter who was leaning against them so hard, Steve’s knees were starting to ache from the strain. Obviously the dog had picked up that _both_ humans were stressed.

Bucky let go of Steve’s hands to rest them on Steve’s hips, fingers hooking into his waistband. “You’re a fucking idiot. You know that?”

“ _I’m_ the idiot? Why? Because I’ve fallen for someone who’s got complications? Welcome to being in a relationship with an adult human.”

One corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched, but he looked away, eyes tracking to Winter. “I mostly stuck with one-night stands, before you.”

_Shit._

No wonder he’d gotten skittish at everything. But saying it that way seemed to disregard Brock. Had Bucky gotten to that point already? Or maybe he’d never really seen the thing with Brock as a relationship. “Well, I don’t know what had you coming back for more, but FYI, I’m not that simple either. You should have seen me when I got home from the desert.” Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. “Honestly, I was a mess until I started seeing Sam. And baby, if you are serious about making this work, it would be a really good idea to start talking to someone. Doesn’t have to be Sam, but —”

“Did you miss the part about my uncle?” Bucky asked with a sharp huff of breath. “He’s got access to damn near _everything_. You think I want to give him ammunition to take back control of my life? My trust fund? He made a fucking fortune off it, until I hit twenty-five.”

Right. Okay. Not paranoid, just dealing with a power-hungry, opportunistic asshole of a relative. Aunt Vera would have a field day with this. “We can talk to Sam about doing your sessions off the record. Okay?” Steve cupped the back of Bucky’s head in his hands and looked at him, imploringly.

“He seems like a nice guy, but I don’t want to get him in trouble. And I sure as _hell_ don’t want Natasha pissed at me. I think she’s” — he hesitated — “government. Like, _above_ my uncle’s security clearance.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, because somehow that made perfect sense. “Well, maybe she can suggest ways of, I dunno, evading detection.” He smirked at Bucky. “When did we end up in a spy novel?”

Bucky tugged on Steve’s waistband, pulling him another couple of inches closer, so their bodies were pressed together from knees to shoulders. “My uncle’s the Secretary of Defense, and I’ve got a cybernetic arm, Steve. This is just begging to be a bad _Blade Runner_ remake.”

Steve laughed and kissed Bucky quickly. “So, you’ll talk to Sam? Off the record? It doesn’t even have to be here.”

“About what?” Bucky asked evasively. “I know PTSD, Steve. I don’t have it.”

“Maybe not from combat, baby, but trauma takes a lot of forms.” Steve trailed his hand down Bucky’s left arm. “He might be able to help with the nightmares. And Winter’s a champ with how much he helps you, but Sam’s also really good at coming up with healthy coping strategies.”

Bucky sighed, gently catching Steve’s hand. He looked down, watching the metal plates flex as he curled his fingers around Steve’s. “You can’t fix nightmares. And I won’t go back on sleeping pills. That made them worse.”

“Sam’s a counselor, love. Not a psychiatrist. He can’t prescribe them anyway. I’m just asking you to _talk_ to him. A lot can get worked out that way. You might be surprised.”

“Okay,” Bucky said quietly. “ _Off_ the record. And that means not here, either. It’s too open.”

Steve let a deep breath out slowly. “Whatever you want. Our place, your place, we’ll work it out.” He kissed Bucky’s forehead in relief. “Thank you.”

Bucky let go of Steve’s hand so he could wrap his arms around Steve’s waist. “I’m a pain in the ass. If you get sick of me, you just say so, okay?”

Smiling, Steve nodded, starting to understand Bucky’s roundabout way of saying things. This, he thought, meant Bucky was planning on sticking around for a while. “I kinda like your pain in my ass, actually.” Bucky pulled back to stare at Steve, then burst out laughing. Steve kissed Bucky with a goofy grin on his face. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ve got a couple hours of work I should get done, but then we can skip out early and go get you a new phone.”

“And you need different pants, if I’m taking you home with me tonight,” Bucky said, looking Steve over. “You want to stop by your place first, or should we just go shopping before we pick up dinner?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I _do_ have clothes of my own, but it all depends on how rough you want to be with said pants later.”

Bucky grinned. “There’s a burger place not too far from Saks. One of Winter’s favorites. We’ll get dinner to go, for all three of us.”

It didn’t take much, it seemed, to make Steve happy. That grin went a long way by itself, and the evening’s plan did the rest. “Yes. Good. Now go entertain Darcy and let me work. She’s dangerous when she’s bored.”

**Author's Note:**

> We've accidentally got a meta that goes deeper into Bucky's history. This is **spoiler heavy!** You can [read it here.](http://kryptaria.tumblr.com/post/91890443090/hey-ive-been-reading-politics-and-animals-and-i-just)
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: When we wrote this fic, we weren't aware of the laws and distinctions between therapy animals, emotional support animals, and service animals. Because of that, this fic has a lot of inaccuracies! I do intend to go back and correct them... when I have time. If you have any questions or want to know more about psychiatric service dogs for PTSD, please contact me: http://kryptaria.tumblr.com/ask/


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